


When I'm Small

by thatjohnlock



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Age Play, Age Regression/De-Aging, Cuddling & Snuggling, Diapers, Infantilism, Little Sherlock and Daddy John, M/M, Non-Sexual Age Play, Non-Sexual Spanking, Wetting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 00:44:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 123
Words: 150,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2602346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatjohnlock/pseuds/thatjohnlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My <em>god</em>, John.” Sherlock holds two fingers to either side of his forehead. “It’s got to be <em>bloody</em> exhausting being you. All you do is worry.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I wouldn’t have to if you would just take care of yourself!” </span></p><p>But that's just the thing...Sherlock can't take care of himself.<br/>
He really does need John to do just that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Learning New Words

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags before continuing to read this story.  
> If you don't want to read infantilism, then DO NOT continue.
> 
> Thank you,  
> -TJL

"John."

Sherlock said his name like a statement, like it was ending punctuation to a sentence that he'd never started. John looked up from his laptop, brow risen. He was waiting for Sherlock to continue speaking, but the other man just looked at the doctor with his puzzlingly colored eyes. 

"I suppose you want me to say 'what?' or 'yes, Sherlock' am I right?" John shrugged his shoulders. Sherlock let a silent grin spread over his face. John just chuckled at the innocent expression, he'd never seen Sherlock wear one like it before. "Yes, Sherlock?"

"I want to ask if you've...heard of something."

"Alright?"

"Infantilism."

John's brow furrowed, he chewed the inside of his cheek in thought. Sherlock held his hands together in front of his face, fingertips pressing patiently to his Cupid's bow. 

The way the older man's forehead creased let Sherlock know that he hadn't heard of it. With one fluid extend of his arm, the detective swooped up an ink pen and began writing on his notepad. He neatly printed the word "INFANTILISM" on it, pushed the pad towards John. 

Again, John looks confused. Sherlock remains patient with John about this, because...with this whole idea, he wants John to be patient with him in return. 

"No, can't say I've heard it before." John shakes his head. "Why is this term important? Is it important, even? Is it for a case or something?"

"I want you to use some deducing skills, Johnny." Sherlock handed John the pen. "Look at the word. What do you notice about it?" 

As John continued to stare at the notepad, Sherlock felt his heart speeding up to a new tempo in his chest. He hadn't expected to feel an excited rush at the very idea of John doing something as simple as reading the word. 

The older man had drawn a thin dark line under prefix of the word. 'INFANT' 

Sherlock nodded slowly at what John had done, though the doctor didn't see it. His eyes were still fixed on the notepad. Sherlock watched as John also underlined the suffix, 'ISM'. 

John brought his eyes up to Sherlock for approval. Sherlock gave a one sided smile, hands still held together. Though John didn't want to admit it, his underlining didn't really help him deduce much. 

"Do it out loud." Sherlock said, as if reading his mind. John cleared his throat, sat up taller.

"Infant...like a baby." John points to the first underlined part of the word. "Ism means something one does...like a distinctive practice...right?"

"Put it together."

John's creased forehead had gone away. It was back now.

"Baby and practice?" John gave a confused chuckle. "Baby practice."

"Exactly."

"Sherlock," John shifted his weight in his seat. "I know you can already tell...but I am horribly confused." 

"Think about it John," Sherlock let a beat of silence pass. "Who would have to practice being a baby?"

John shrugged his shoulders. "Someone who isn't a baby?"

"Who would want to do that?" 

"Uh..." John pursed his lips. "I don't...I don't know, Sherlock. Who?"

“Yes, who?” Sherlock brought his hands away from his face. He picked up the notepad from in front of John. The younger man rose from his seat, making his way across the flat to grab his coat.

"Where are you going?" John asks, though sometimes he's not answered when he bothers to question things that Sherlock does.

"Out." Was the reply.

"Well bloody obviously, but-"

"I'll be back shortly, text if you need anything." Sherlock stopped halfway out of the door before turning back to John. "Please, don't need anything."

Sherlock gave a sarcastic smile, stretching lips, squinting his eyes, crinkling his nose. John could only watch the man's face crinkle up, before the detective disappeared down the steps and out of the door that read '221B'.


	2. Going to Google

Often times when John fails to understand something Sherlock does, says...or doesn't say or do, John turns to the Internet. If the internet proved useless, John would turn to the human Internet, but with less cats, Mycroft Holmes. But, hopefully it wouldn't come to that. 

Google was one of John's true loves. What a sad realization. 

He went to the internet browser and typed the word 'infantilism'. John was met with many images and terms that only confused him more. 

** Adult baby. Age play.  **

There seemed to be a very sexual side to all of this. Also, an extremely non sexual side. 

All of the images, all of the words...they only confused John further. 

"What the hell is Sherlock trying to tell me?" John says under his breath.

But, then...a word caught his eye. 

The word: **blog**. 

A word that John knows well. 

He clicks on it without hesitation. Though the set up is friendly and familiar to blogs John would normally visit, John isn't sure what to think. It's an infantilism blog. 

The blogger's most recent post is titled 'Emotional Rant'. John wasn’t sure if he even wanted to hear about the adult baby's problems. It was strange enough even being on this website. Still, John's eyes have fixated on the blog already.

 

> ** ‘Emotional Rant **
> 
> ** I feel so empty...here all by myself. I look at the babies I pass when out in public. They are in the safe warm arms of a parent, guardian. They look so peaceful. I just...I just want someone to hold me. I want to know what it’s like to have that unconditional love again.  **
> 
> ** Everyday...I feel so vulnerable. I feel abandoned. I just want someone to take care of me. Like a Mummy or a Daddy.’ **

John’s brow furrowed at what he read. Sherlock’s question rang in his head. ‘Who would want to do that?’ he remembers the brunette man saying. 

'Who would want to be a baby', is the same question as ‘who would want to be taken care of’...but pushed far into the extremes. The person would  _actually_ want to be taken care of, completely. Like an infant.

But why would Sherlock bring this to John’s attention? He wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t important. That meant, that Sherlock was trying to tell John something. He just couldn’t figure out what. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next 3 chapters are going to be entitled 'Sherlock's Needs' and these chapters are just leading up to Sherlock confessing to John, what he really wants. They're just examples of Sherlock's inability to take care of himself.


	3. Sherlock's Needs: Food

It was two in the morning when they got back to 221B Baker Street. Sherlock immediately rid himself of his scarf and coat, hanging them up neatly where they belonged before heading into the kitchen. John had the same idea, to head right into the kitchen and get something to eat. 

However, as Sherlock entered the kitchen, he immediately sat down at the table and began carding through his labeled microscope slides to begin observing samples he’d left earlier after getting the text from Lestrade. 

John stood across the kitchen in front of the fridge, eyeing the younger man. Sherlock’s bright colored eyes flickered up at John before diving back into the lenses of his microscope. When John’s stare didn’t falter, and Sherlock could feel John’s eyes burning into him, the curly haired man gave an annoyed groan. 

“For god’s sake,” Sherlock rolled his eyes as he looked up at the doctor. “What?”

“Aren’t you going to eat?” John asked calmly enough to let Sherlock’s angered tone weaken a bit.

“No.” Sherlock replies before his eyes go back into the microscope. John’s hands are now on his hips and he clears his throat. The detective looks up at him again, this time, his face was blank. Not annoyed at all, but honestly wondering what it was that John could want now. 

“What?” Sherlock raises one of his perfect eyebrows.

“Are you not hungry?” 

“Not hungry.” 

“Sherlock.” The doctors arms go from poised on his hips, to folded in front of his chest. The detective doesn’t groan this time. He simply sits upright and looks John from head to toe. 

“Two days.” 

“Huh?” John’s brow furrows.

“You’re going to ask me when the last time I’ve eaten was.” Sherlock clarifies his previous statement. “My answer would be, two days.”

“Two whole days?” John’s jaw falls open. “How have I not noticed?”

“Too busy stuffing your own face, I assume.” Sherlock eyes John again before going back to his research. “Four pounds.”

“What?”

“You’ve gained.”

“Have not!” John looks defensively down at his frame. He hadn’t felt any bigger, Sherlock had to be just pushing his buttons.

“You’re right, maybe five.” Sherlock smirked at John’s reddened face. “Can I go back to my research, now?”

“No,” John shakes his head. “You can either go to bed, or eat something. Preferably both.”

“My  _god_ , John.” Sherlock holds two fingers to either side of his forehead. “It’s got to be  _bloody_  exhausting being you. All you do is worry.”

“I wouldn’t have to if you would just take care of yourself!” John’s voice raises slightly. Not because he was angry, but because he wanted to get it through Sherlock’s thick skull that he should really start tending to his own needs. He was only human, after all. 

Sherlock’s expression changed at what John had said. He brought his shoulders up closer to his ears for a moment before lowering them and letting his eyebrows come closer together. 

“Are you alright?” John notices the change in Sherlock’s features, but can’t figure what they mean. 

“I’ll eat.” Sherlock’s voice is barely over a whisper. John’s shocked, to say the least. Coaxing Sherlock to do  _anything_  usually took tedious pestering and at least one quick...or lengthy argument.

“You...will?” John can’t pretend he’s not surprised. Sherlock’s eyebrows are still knit as he nods slowly to the doctor. “Might I...ask what changed your mind?”

“Do you want me to?” Sherlock asks.

“Want you to what?”

“Eat.” 

“Well, of course I do, you git.” John opens the fridge, trying to find something...edible. Amongst all of the random  _specimens_ in their refrigerator. 

“Why?” Came Sherlock’s next question. John glanced over his shoulder before looking back into the fridge. 

“Why wouldn’t I want you to eat?”

“But...why do you?”

“It’s...good to sustain your life, I suppose is a valid reason.” John’s voice is  _dripping_  with sarcasm. “Also, if you care so much about your precious Sherlockian brain, you should probably consider giving it some fuel.”

“So,” Sherlock’s voice still sounds smaller than his regular voice, quieter, gentler. “You want me to eat because it’s good for me?”

“To put it simply, yes.” John pulls a few ingredients from the fridge and brings them to a seemingly clean part of the counter. 

“And...” Sherlock says. “Because you care about me?”

John looks over his shoulder again. This time, for longer than a glance. “Of course.” John nods. “Of course I care about you, Sherlock. You’re my best friend.”

Sherlock looks down, folding his arms. He looks like he’s trying not to grin as he lets his tongue pass over his bottom lip. 

“Thank you, John.” Sherlock’s voice sounds a bit more like it normally does as he peers back into his microscope. “I’ll eat whatever you make when it’s done.”

“Um....” John is still confused, but he’s pleased that Sherlock has agreed to eat. “It’ll be done in just a bit.”

The detective hums in acknowledgment. 

~*~

When John puts the plate down beside Sherlock’s microscope, the younger man jumps. The doctor has never seen Sherlock so...sensitive. Maybe he was just overly hungry, or overly tired. 

“Sorry.” John apologizes for startling him. When Sherlock looks up at him, there’s something different in Sherlock’s eyes. Something smaller. The detective gives John a little smile. 

“Thank you.” Sherlock takes the fork that John is extending to him and takes a bite of the food. His eyes light up. “Oh, this is really yummy, John.”

_Yummy_? John’s brow creases again. “Um, well...you’re welcome.” The doctor replies as he begins walking out of the room. 

“Where are you going??” Sherlock’s voice sounds extremely concerned. As if John is going tap-dancing through a minefield. 

“I’ve...got to visit the loo.” John replies, turning to look at Sherlock. The younger man’s blue-green-grey... _something_ , eyes are widened with... _fear_ , is it?

“Oh...are you coming back?” Sherlock asks, voice still small. 

“Well, of course.” John chuckles. “Where the hell else might I go? Down the drain?”

“You...you could.” Sherlock looks down, cheeks tinted a faint rouge. 

“What is  _with_  you tonight, Sherlock?” John finally can’t pretend not to notice anymore. “You’re acting strangely.”

“Am I?” Sherlock asks, voice getting even tinier.

“Yes, you are!” John throws his hands up. “That voice, and...you’re being...clingy? Is that even the word for it?”

“I....I...” Sherlock looks perplexed. Like John had just asked him to count every star in the sky in less than ten seconds. He’s trying to find an answer quickly, but nothing comes to him. 

_Sherlock Holmes, speechless_. John thinks,  _This would go up on the blog if...something wasn’t obviously wrong with Sherlock._

“Look,” John shrugs. “Maybe you’re just tired.” 

“But-”

“No, it’s fine. Sorry for...asking, it’s apparently hard for you to answer.” John begins walking out of the room again. “I’ll go to the toilet and then-”

“And then you’ll come eat with me?” Sherlock’s face is gleaming with a bright grin. 

“Yeah, then I’ll come eat with you.”


	4. Sherlock's Needs: Toilet

Speaking of the loo, Sherlock never wanted to go. Even when he really needed to. He’d rather stay and research, or tend to his own...far less popular than John’s, blog. 

This was nothing new. Not like the clinginess or the little voice.

However, Sherlock had gotten _more_ stubborn about it. He held way passed his normal limits now, and more often. 

They were on the train because their journey was much farther than their usual cab would take them. At least not without costing an arm and a leg. So, John had suggested that they take the train. 

Sherlock just shrugged and let John decide for them. Even though some agreement or acknowledgment of the good idea would’ve been nice, John was just glad that Sherlock wasn’t defying him. 

As they sat on the train Sherlock had begun bouncing his leg. This was common of a Sherlock who was trying to think deeply about an issue, it was also common of a Sherlock who really needed to visit the toilet. 

“Sherlock, do you need to...um...go?” John asked in a low voice so the other riders couldn’t hear his words over the hum of the train. 

“No.” Sherlock shook his head. This was also nothing new. John rolled his eyes and let that be that. He wasn’t about to argue with Sherlock here. 

~*~

As they got off of the train, Sherlock continued to fidget as John stopped to text Lestrade. 

“Ugh, what are you  _doing_ , John?” Sherlock scowled. “Why are we standing around like this?”

“Texting, something you like to do.”

“Why don’t you just bloody call him?” Sherlock teetered from foot to foot.

“He’s sending me important photos, would you like to see them?”

“Not until we get to our destination.” Sherlock responded in a semi-strangled voice. 

“There.” John pointed ahead without looking up. 

“What?” Sherlock followed the direction of the pointed finger with his eyes before huffing. “Ugh, John.” Sherlock frowned at the sign that read ‘restrooms’. “I don’t have to go!”

“Then why are you doing the ‘pee-pee’ dance?” John inquires nonchalantly. 

“I’m just agitated because we’re standing around, is all! If you’d bloody hurry up we could g-”

“Ok, done.” John knew Sherlock needed to go, but he wasn’t going to fuss with him. He  _really_  didn’t feel like arguing with Sherlock today. “Let’s go.”

~*~

Sherlock followed John down the sidewalk, they had a few blocks to travel before arriving at the address of the witness’s home. John had been requested by Lestrade to ask the woman simple questions. Sherlock wanted to come along, only to bring his lovely deduction skills, even though John had told him that he could stay at the flat this time. 

Halfway through their walk, Sherlock had started stopping every few feet to hold himself. 

“Sherlock, this is exactly why-” John was about to tell Sherlock off again when he noticed the panicked expression on the younger man’s face. Sherlock’s hand was held firmly over his crotch. 

“John...a little just came out.” Sherlock winced as he held back another spurt. 

“Oh...damn it.” John looked around frantically for a shop that Sherlock might be able to go into and use their restroom. But, they were in a residential area and they couldn’t just barge into people’s homes. “This is why I fucking told you to go at the-”

“Not the time! John, please, just-” Sherlock was cut off by a firm tug to the arm, almost making him lose control of his full bladder. “Bloody  _careful_ , John.” 

“Sorry.” John grumbled as he crossed the street with Sherlock until they reached an empty, grassy lot with a large tree towards the edge of it. “Go at the tree.” John nudged him forward, standing at the sidewalk. 

“I don’t want to go by myself, come with me.” Sherlock whined, John heard the littleness in his voice. 

“Sherlock...I don’t really want to-”

“ _Please_ , John!”

The doctor groaned, he could never say no when Sherlock said please. Small voiced or not, the depth of Sherlock’s pleas were never a joke. Besides, he wasn't going to let Sherlock wet himself because of his own embarrassment. John simply nodded and followed Sherlock across the lot. 

The younger man walked quickly, and as soon as he was behind the tree, and as soon as he removed himself from his pants, he began going. 

John reddened at the unmistakeable sound of Sherlock’s....urine, puddling into the grass in the silence of the surrounding nature. The older male needed to break the silence. 

“Uh...Sherlock,” John cleared his throat. “Maybe next time, you shouldn’t hold it for so long? It’s extremely discomforting and it could be harmful to your health.”

“Shhh, John.” Sherlock responds in his small voice. “I’m peeing.”

“I know you are...which is why I have to say something because I can hear it and it’s kind of off putting.”

“You’ve heard it before.” Sherlock says as he continues to go, obviously taking the longest piss in the history of the world.

“That I have, but...damn it, Sherlock. Just, hurry up, please?”

“I am, I am!” Sherlock hisses, small voice sounding frustrated for a moment before giggling. He just  _giggled_. 

“What’s so funny?”

“It sounds like the fountain at the park.” Sherlock comments as he finishes. When he’s done, he shakes and tucks himself away. 

“Are your pants...dry?” John blushes at the question. 

“I’m good.” Sherlock nods and begins walking across the lot, John follows. 

“But earlier, you uh said ‘some came out’ so...”

“Not that much, I’m fine, John.” Sherlock’s normal voice broke through his small one. “Don’t worry.”

“I’m not especially  _worried_. I just, I dunno. Never mind.” John says. “I’m glad you’re fine.”

“Yes.” Sherlock nods. 

“Just remember to wash your hands.” John reminds him, again Sherlock nods. “Do you feel better?” John doesn’t know why he asks, of course Sherlock felt better. He’d just let out a gallon of urine from his bladder. 

“I do, thank you, uh...” He clears his throat. “For...for caring about me again, John.” Sherlock had a sincere grin on his face, one like the detective wore when John had made him food the other day.

“Of course.” John smiles back.


	5. Sherlock's Needs: Sleep & Emotions

Since the incident with Sherlock behaving strangely at their late night meal the other day, and...the one with the detective almost pissing himself, Sherlock has been normal. Completely normal. 

His strong baritone voice is back, stronger than ever. His inhumanly perfect posture, no more hunched, shy shoulders. Sherlock hasn’t been clingy, or constantly worried about where John was. At least not as outwardly. A text message asking where he was currently located was about it. 

Normal. 

Even down to refusing meals again. Which, at the moment, was the least of John’s worries. 

“Sherlock...” John sighed. 

The detective was leaning in the archway of a very expensive home. Where a very wealthy husband had apparently murdered his very wealthy wife, for sleeping with not one, but two of his coworkers. She was packing to leave him that night, but never quite made it out. Her husband had killed her in their bedroom.

Sherlock had deduced all of that in less than ten minutes of looking around the crime scene. However, now that they knew _what_ had happened, they needed to find out  _how_  it happened. Everyone was looking to the detective for answers, but he currently couldn’t give any...because he was sleeping. Leaning against the archway with his pink lips parted, soft snores followed every silent exhale. 

John blushed as he was embarrassed  _for_  Sherlock. 

“Sherlock,” John repeated, crossing the room over to the younger man. He shook the detective’s shoulder and Sherlock’s eyes flew open. 

“Blunt instrument, back of the head. Something heavy, but not sharp. The broken skin on the scalp looks broken from the impact of the object, not the sharpness of it. Look for something very heavy with a blunt corner,  _blunt_  not sharp.” Sherlock said the words clearly, confidently. Like he hadn’t been completely asleep literally five seconds ago.

John’s brow furrowed in disbelief. The doctor grinned. “Incredible...even right upon waking?”

“Oh, shut up.” Sherlock shrugs John’s hand away from his shoulder. “I wasn’t sleeping, I was thinking.”

“You were snoring, Sherlock.” John points out.

“Not sleeping, deep think-breathing.”

John folds his arms smugly at the curly haired man. “ _Think-breathing_ , did you say?”

“Just, piss off.” Sherlock rolls his eyes and crosses the room, looking around again at the objects on shelves, in drawers for something that might’ve been the murder weapon. He was yawning the entire time as he did so.

“We should go.” John approaches him, speaking under his breath. Sherlock didn’t bother turning to look at him. 

“I’m not tired.”

“When?”

“What?” Sherlock frowns, becoming annoyed. 

“When is the last time that you slept?”

“Few days.”

“How many is a few?” John asks.

“Maybe three...four.” Sherlock shrugs. 

John presses his lips into a thin line. “Sherlock...even in the bleeding army, I could maybe go three days without sleep. But it was practically unbearable. I could barely function at some points. How the hell are you still functioning?”

“Because...” Sherlock’s voice trails off as he picks up a figurine that’s sat up on a shelf. It is identical to the other one at the opposite end of the shelf...but it’s turned at a slightly different angle. 

“Sherlock, you need to sl-”

“John, hush...” Sherlock shakes his head, trying to get his thoughts back in order. They were beginning to line up before John interrupted him by talking. Wait... _line up_? 

“Sherlock, seriously you need to-”

“Line up.” Sherlock states, looking back at the other figurine. 

“What?” 

“Line up...these don’t line up.” Sherlock picks up the misaligned figurine.

“Well, so what? This is a bedroom, not a museum. The displays aren’t going to be impeccably lined up.” John shrugs. “Why does it matter?”

Sherlock turned the heavy figurine upside down. The base of it was chipped a bit, also, a smear of red was seen there. Faded a bit, as if someone had tried to rub it out. 

“John, you’re a genius!” Sherlock beamed at him. 

“Am I?”

“Yes!” Sherlock grinned. “If it hadn’t been for you pestering me, I wouldn’t have come over here in hopes of getting away from you!”

“Well, gee...Sherlock. Thanks.” John says dryly. “Still, you would’ve come over here eventually.”

“Sure,” Sherlock agreed. “But, you’ve saved us some valuable time, Johnny.”

~*~

In the cab, headed back towards Baker Street, Sherlock fought sleep. His heavy eyelids closing for moments at a time, head bobbing. John watched in amusement for the first few times, but then he started to feel a bit bad for the detective. Sherlock's mind was constantly going, he was practically a machine. It had to be tough to seldom be able to find rest, with a constantly busy mind. 

That’s how John had felt away in Afghanistan, and when he’d come home afterwards. Absolutely restless, not being able to find comfort anywhere, anyhow. Not without his mind jolting him into unwanted consciousness after every attempt to sleep. 

“Sherlock,” John whispered to the younger man. He felt a bit silly for doing so, but he reached over and ran his fingers through the chestnut tendrils. Sherlock gave a content moan and brought his hand up to his own face. His lips parted slightly as if he were about to take something inside them. John noticed Sherlock's thumb was extended, coming closer and closer to Sherlock’s mouth. It looked as if Sherlock was about to suck his thumb. But, suddenly, the cab jerked to a stop at 221B Baker Street and the detective all but jumped out of the cab and ran up the stairs. 

~*~

After John paid the cabbie and made his way up the stairs as well, the doctor came into the building to find Sherlock sitting on the top step outside their flat, with his arms folded. 

“What are you-” John is cut off by Sherlock giving a loud growl. 

“I don’t  _want_  to!” The detective yelled, his voice sounded...smaller than his regular voice again. However, it was much louder than his baritone voice usually went. Unless...Mycroft was visiting. 

“Sherlock, what the  _hell_  are you-”

“I’m not tired! You can’t make me go to sleep!” Sherlock said. John looked into the detective's tired, bloodshot eyes. 

“Of course you’re not...” John rolled his own tired eyes. “Look,  _I’m_ exhausted. So if I’m tired, from only being awake for like, twelve or so hours, probably more. Then you  _have_  to be tired after three damn days.”

“Well, I’m not!” Sherlock sticks out his tongue in a childish manner, even the angry glint in the detective’s eyes was childish. It was back again...this...whatever this was. “You’re just tired because you’re  _old_!”

John frowned,  _actually_ a little offended at what Sherlock had said. 

“Sherlock...that wasn’t very nice.” John says, highly confused with the tone he’d taken on. Like he was scolding a child. But, that’s what Sherlock was acting like. A huge spoiled child. 

“I don’t care!” Sherlock responds, huffing a big unhappy breath. “I’m _not_ going to sleep!”

“Get up off the steps, and go to your room.”

“No!”

“That’s it.” John wasn’t going to put up with Sherlock, especially acting like this. “If you’re going to behave like a child, I’ll treat you like one.”

John grabs the detective's arm, struggling to pull him to his feet. Once he was standing up, Sherlock stomped his large feet. This was utterly ridiculous. John takes Sherlock’s hand, ready to lead him into their flat.

“Stomp all you want, you are getting into the bed.  _Now_!” John replies. However, he hears a chuckle behind him and looks over his shoulder. 

“Demanding someone to bed, are we?” Mrs. Hudson looks up at them from the bottom of the stairs. 

“Oh...uh, fuck.” John cursed under his breath. He looks down at his own and Sherlock’s held hands. “This...isn’t what it-”

“Just keep it down you two.” Mrs. Hudson gives a knowing grin. 

“But...we...” John is cut off by Sherlock huffing again and stomping into the flat, slamming the door behind him. John groans. 

“Having a domestic?” Mrs. Hudson raises an eyebrow. John wants to roll his eyes, but...maybe she was the right person to talk to about all of this.

“Mrs. Hudson...can I ask you something?” 

“Of course,” She walks around to the stairs sits on the bottom one, patting the one above her. John comes down the steps and sits. “So, it’s about Sherlock, then?”

“Yes.” John nods. “He’s been acting strangely lately.”

“Strange how?”

“A touch more moody.” John shrugs. “He gets so clingy at times, and then he throws  _tantrums_.” 

“Hm...” Mrs. Hudson thinks for a moment. “Sounds like he wants your attention.”

“What?”

“He wants your attention, sounds like.” Mrs. Hudson pats John’s knees and stands up. “Let him know that you’re there.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Let him know that you’re there.” Mrs. Hudson repeats. “Goodnight now, dear.”

“Uh...” John watches as she gets up off the step and retreats to her own flat. “Goodnight, then.”

~*~

John enters the flat and closes the door behind him with a sigh. When he looks up after walking into the center of the room, he sees Sherlock standing in the doorway of his bedroom. They make eye contact. 

The doctor thinks about what Mrs. Hudson had said. But...what did she mean?

“Hi, John.” Sherlock says, his voice limboing between sounding small and sounding normal. John cleared his throat. 

“Uh, hi...Sherlock.” John nods, watching as the detective looked down at his bare feet. He was standing clad in a plain old white tshirt and a pair of plaid pajama bottoms. 

“I’m sorry.” Sherlock apologizes, which is something he rarely did. John was about to ask him for what, when Sherlock gave the answer. “For...yelling.”

“You’re...sorry for yelling?” John responds. Even Sherlock’s apology sounded childish. 

“Yes.” Sherlock nods, curls bouncing as he nods enthusiastically. “I won’t do it anymore, if you come sleep with me.”

John froze, lips parted.  _Sleep with him_? 

“I don’t want to be alone.” Sherlock states, again, eyes on his bare feet. His voice sounded so,  _so small_. 

“Sherlock...” John takes a few steps forward towards the younger male. The brunette looked up, wide eyed as if John was coming at him like a speeding train. But, John wasn’t. He was taking slow, long strides as not to scare the detective off. 

“Y-yes?” 

“Would it...make you feel better, if I told you that I was there for you?”

“You’re...what?” Sherlock looked confused. It...it was like John wasn’t talking to... _Sherlock_  anymore. In the detectives puzzlingly colored eyes, wasn’t the Sherlock Holmes that had been John’s flatmate for the passed couple of years. Instead, there was someone very small and scared and...fragile. 

“I’m here for you, Sherlock.” John repeats. “If there is anything you...you need, or-”

“I’m afraid.” Sherlock blinked his eyes, trying to keep the collecting tears from falling. John had never seen Sherlock cry, but here he was now...watching the younger man’s face crumple like a paper tossed into the waste bin. 

“Sherlock, hey...what’s the matter?”

“I’m scared, John!” Sherlock exclaims, moving forward and wrapping his arms around John’s neck, crying. “I can’t be b-big anymore!”

“What?”

“I need...I need you, I need someone!” Sherlock was full out sobbing now. There was a hint of normal Sherlock in the broken voice, but it was almost completely covered over with this...smaller voice. 

“What do you mean?” John asks, but then...John remembers. The blog he’d read. The person who wrote the blog entry, ‘Emotional Rant’ had mention that they needed someone. They needed to be taken care of. That they...that... 

“Sherlock.”

“Y-yes?” Sherlocks small voice trembled as John wrapped his arms around his flatmate. 

“Do you need someone to take care of you? Like a mummy or a daddy?”

“I...” Sherlock hiccuped another sob, before nodding. 

“But, Sherlock...you’re a grown man.”

“I’m not!” Sherlock shakes his head insistently. “I’m not, I’m little!”

“You’re tired, is what you are right now.” John steps back to look at Sherlock. “Why don’t we talk about this in the morning?”

“I’m little.” Sherlock sniffles, keeping his eye contact with John. 

“Alright, alright.” John nods, leading Sherlock into his bedroom. The younger male climbed onto his bed, laying on his stomach, sniffling still.

“Will you stay with me?” Sherlock asks, looking up at John. The doctor's head was spinning. 

Sherlock had just said he needed a mummy or a daddy to care for him. What the _hell_ was John supposed to do? He’d agreed to help Sherlock in anyway that he could, a long time ago. But...what was it that he wanted John to do? What was it that Sherlock needed? Could he even give him what he needed? What if John just couldn’t do this? Whatever this was?

“Well, Sherlock...” John shrugged. “I want to go change out of these clothes before anything. I was all over a crime scene in this, remember? Dead things and all.”

“Fine.” Sherlock huffed, shifting a bit into a more comfortable position. John watched as his over six foot tall flatmate proceeded to insert his thumb into his mouth. As the younger man looked up at John, he grinned. “After that, you’ll come lay with me?” Sherlock garbled around his thumb. 

John decided just to go with the flow. “Sure.”

“Ok, I’ll be here.”

“Sure.” John says again before trying not to look like he was sprinting from Sherlock’s room. 

~*~

As John stepped into his pajamas he tried to catch his breath, but it just wasn’t working. 

“A baby...” John says under his breath as if Sherlock might hear him all the way downstairs. “Sherlock is a baby. He’s...what the buggering  _fuck_?” He curses as he pulls his tshirt on. “ _The_  intelligent, sophisticated consulting detective...is a  _baby_? He thinks he’s a baby? Or...he’s pretending to be a baby or...? I mean...I  _know_  that he can’t take care of himself, that was always a given. But he wants a  _daddy or a mummy_  to do it?”

John is trying to wrap his head around all of this when he heard his bedroom door creak open. For some reason, John felt a warm twinge in his chest when he saw Sherlock standing in the doorway, eyes puffy from crying or from tiredness, probably both. Cheeks rosy, curls wild from the day’s affairs. A dummy bobbing under his nose, and a -- a dummy?

“Sherlock,” John says calmly. 

“Yes?” The ‘yes’ is lispy from the rubbery nipple in his mouth. 

“Have you, uh...got a dummy?” John asks, still trying to keep his voice calm. 

“Helps me relax.” Sherlock garbles. “Come downstairs now?”

“Yes, I’ll come downstairs now.” John nods and turns out his bedroom light as he leaves, closing the door as well. Sherlock has taken John by the hand and is leading him back downstairs. 

The younger male gets into his bed, his eyes already heavy from exhaustion. He looks up expectantly at John, patting the empty space, giving a pleading noise as he did so. 

Sherlock was actually  _terribly_ adorable. John tried not to smile at his flatmate. How could someone like, constantly impeccably dressed and intelligent Sherlock look this little and  _cute_  of all things?

John gets into the bed and Sherlock stops whining. It’s been a while, since John has been in bed with another male. Especially not in bed with another man without something sexual being involved. 

Or...was this sexual? John remembers that there are two different communities of infantilism...partakers? He still wasn’t sure of all the terminology. 

Still, there seemed to be a community who did this to get off, and another community who did this for emotional reasons. Who really wanted to get into their headspace and be little again. 

It seemed that Sherlock wanted the latter. To be cared for. Which...while looking at Sherlock like this. Eyes heavy, dummy bobbing, cheeks rosy... _adorable_ , John wanted to care for. He was willing to do what it took to keep this little boy --  _little boy_? Happy. 

“Sherlock?” John whispers, the younger male’s eyes flutter as open as they can get with the heavy eyelids. 

“Yes?”

“Can I ask, um... _big you_  something?” John blushes, still not knowing how this works. Could Sherlock even...uh, summon(?) his big self right now? 

Sherlock reached up and took the dummy from his mouth and looked expectantly at John. His eyes didn’t seem as heavy, and there was the normal Sherlockian glimmer in them amongst all of the greens and blues and greys. 

“Oh, um, hey...Sherlock.” John greeted ‘big Sherlock’ and the curlyhaired male chuckled at the greeting. 

“Hey, John.” Sherlock said in his usual deep voice. He was blushing now that he was in his adult mindset. It was like he just came into the realization that he was currently in bed with John, holding a dummy. 

“So, I have a lot of questions.”

“I figured as much.” Sherlock's quick as a whip response was a breath of fresh air, compared to the previous baby sounding garble. “I’m quite tired though, as you can imagine. It can’t wait until morning?”

“Um...I guess.”

“Ask two important questions, save the rest for tomorrow.” Sherlock offered and John tried to sift through the millions of questions in his head. The first one that came out was-

“Why?” John asks, and Sherlock’s eyes shift from ‘open to answer questions’ to ‘John, you fucked up...wrong question’ quickly. 

“John...” Sherlock sighs. “I need this. I’ve always needed this.”

“But, why?”

“I don’t know. I’m just... _little_. This side of me is just _here_ , inside of me. It's always been here.” Sherlock shrugs as he lays on his side, hand propping up his jaw. “It’s like, say you’re vision impaired,”

“Um, alright?”

“And sure, you can  _see_  without your glasses.” Sherlock says. “But everything is better with your glasses on. Things are easier and clearer to see.”

“I...understand the analogy, Sherlock.” John nods. “Really, I do. But I still...feel confused.”

“John, I  _love_  being...‘big’.” Sherlock smiles bittersweetly. “I love being me, I love myself no doubt. Being an adult has its perks and I wouldn’t trade it for being little  _all_  of the time. But, sometimes being little just feels better. I feel safer, and happier. Well, I would if I had someone to take care of me.”

“Why?”

“Ugh,” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Is that all you have to say?”

“I think I have a right to know.” John says firmly. “Especially if you want me to take care of you.” John keeps Sherlock’s eye contact. Sherlock eyes him like he’s an animal behind the glass at the zoo.

“If I had someone to take care of me, I would be so free. I’d just be able to ‘be’.” Sherlock begins. “It’s so hard as an adult to just be, there are so many responsibilities and things to think about. In my little headspace, I can just focus on being. Only concerning myself with things that make me happy. And, I’d have someone else to help me with all of my needs. Someone would make sure that I’ve eaten, slept enough. And...and...” Sherlock hesitated. 

“And?”

“I’m so emotionally pent up, John.” Sherlock shakes his head. “I’m constantly trying to hold everything in, hold it all together. If I was little, I wouldn’t have to. If I wanted to cry, I could cry. If I was angry, I could be angry. Adults are always expected to be so held together.”

“Sherlock, when you’re angry you sulk around the flat all day.”

“It’s not the same.” Sherlock’s brow creased. “That’s still me ‘holding it in’. I’m not releasing any emotion, just appearing emotional. Completely different.”

John thinks for a moment, then nods. “You’re right, Sherlock.”

“So, yeah...I just...need this.” Sherlock says. “Not always, but-”

“When I can tell that you’re not taking care of yourself, I could...step in?” John offers, this makes Sherlock smile. 

“We’ll see, but that’d be a nice start.” Sherlock shifts his position a little. “So, you asked ‘why’ a million times, but do...you want to know anything else?”

“Two tiny things.”

“Go on, then.”

“Nappies?” John blushes, Sherlock does too.

“Yes...?” Sherlock gives a tentative answer. “Only if you’re comfortable with that. And, we can ease into it. Maybe somewhere down the line we could try them. When you’re ready.”

“I might be ready sooner than you think,” John says. “For the nappies I mean.”

“Really?” Sherlock tries not to sound too happy about it.

“Yeah, Sherlock...I’m a doctor I see parts all the time.”

“I know that,” Sherlock nods. “But I mean...the, uh,  _waste_.”

“Again, seen it.” John shrugs. 

“Wet nappies?”

“I could handle it I think.”

“M-messy?” Sherlock blushes harder, extremely tempted to hide his face. John closes his eyes tight, unable to help but picture himself changing  _Sherlock’s_  messy nappy. The younger male sees John’s nearly pained expression. “Ok...so we’ll hold off on messy nappies?”

“It’s inevitable, technically speaking.” John slowly opens his eyes. “So, maybe if we just go all in, messy nappies and all, I could get used to it faster.”

“No, John. We don’t have to go all in.” Sherlock shakes his head, bouncing his curls. “I  _am_  a grown man...most of the time. So, I could control myself and just go to the toilet for that until later. It’s alright.”

“Are you sure?” John raises a brow. “I want you to be comfortable.”

“I will be, this is already a huge weight off my chest.”

“Weight off your chest? So you’ve been wanting this for a while?”

“Ever since I was younger. I was never really ready to grow up.” Sherlock shrugs. “I used to be _seethingly_ jealous of small children and babies whenever I’d see them. How lucky they were just to ‘be’ and have their every need taken care of.”

“I understand, I think...” John clears his throat. “So, if I am to take care of you. I’ll need supplies? You have your dummy, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Sherlock holds the item in his hand up. It’s a dummy with a clear silicone nipple, red plastic shell and blue ring. “I have several...I tend to lose them.”

“You’re saying there are lost dummies all around the house?”

“No, not in the house. I tend to lose them outside of the flat.”

“What?”

“Long story.” Sherlock shrugs, John doesn’t ask further. 

“What else do you have besides dummies right now?”

Sherlock eyes John like he’s considering not telling him, but Sherlock points to his closet door. “Everything.” He says through a yawn. John yawns back and looks over his shoulder at the closet. 

“Everything?” The older man repeats, wondering exactly what that meant. 

“Yes.” Sherlock nods and slips the dummy back into his mouth. “That was way more than two questions.”

“Not  _way_  more.” John retorts, Sherlock just glares at him. But, it’s not as menacing as usual because of the dummy in his mouth. 

“Can I sleep now, please?” Sherlock whines, his voice becoming little again. He said ‘please’ and Sherlock can always win with the pleas. John reaches forward and cards his fingers through Sherlock’s curls. 

“Sure, little one.” John tries to be fatherly, Sherlock’s sleepy eyes brighten. The younger male is quiet for a while, but John can tell he’s not asleep yet. 

“John?” Sherlock says, eyes closed. 

“Hm?”

“Can I...call you Daddy?” Sherlock’s eyes open into slits, just enough to watch John’s reaction to the question. 

“Are you going to be my sweet baby?” John asks, he finds taking on the gentle caring role with Sherlock to be easy. Easier than maybe it should be. 

Sherlock’s cheeks go rouge, but he nods. 

“Well, if you’re going to be my lovely little boy, then I’ll be your...Daddy.” John tastes the word on his tongue, it feels odd in a glorious way. 

“Ok,” Sherlock smiles from behind his dummy. 

“Goodnight.” John yawns and settles a bit closer to his boy. 

“Goodnight...Daddy.”


	6. Good Morning

When John wakes up, the sun is streaming in through the curtains. He squints a bit against the light. When his vision clears up some, he notices that Sherlock is gone. He’s concerned for a second, but decides not to be. Maybe Sherlock is ‘big’ right now, and he’s out and about. He didn’t always tell John when he was leaving the flat, maybe John will check his phone in a moment to see if Sherlock had left him a text about where he might be. 

As John shifted a bit, he heard something shuffling across the room. John propped himself up on his elbows to see Sherlock’s curls bobbing as he moved about on the floor. 

John cleared his throat. 

“Uh, morning Sherlock.” John greets the younger man. 

Sherlock’s head whips around to face John, his eyes light up, he has his dummy in his mouth.

“Morning, Daddy!” Sherlock crawls onto the bed and John realizes that Sherlock is totally babyfied.

Sherlock is wearing a pastel blue tshirt with the first three numbers of pi on the front in navy blue characters. He’s also wearing a nappy. It looks soft and thick between his legs. He’s not wearing any trousers. 

“Look at you.” John says fondly. He’s still amazed that  _the_  Sherlock Holmes can look this cute.

“Do...I look silly?” Sherlock blushes a bit, John shakes his head.

“I think you look just fine, just like a little boy ought to look.” John sits up completely before his eyes glance down to Sherlock’s nappy again. “Do you, uh, need to be changed?”

“Nope.” Sherlock grins from behind his dummy. “I just put it on.”

“Oh alright,” John swings his legs over the side of the bed and stretches. “But, Sherlock...”

“Yes, Daddy?” Sherlock says ‘daddy’ very tentatively, like it’s new. Well, it is new.

“Putting on nappies is Daddy’s job, you aren’t to do it by yourself again.” John looks at him with a pretend stern look. “You don’t want trouble do you?”

Sherlock’s eyes widen and he shakes his head, tossing his curls. 

“No, no trouble!”

“I’m just joking.” John assures him, then silence fills the room. “So...”

Sherlock looks up at him expectantly. It was strange having Sherlock be the one looking to him for what should come next. It’s usually the other way around. 

“What are we doing today, Daddy?” Sherlock prompts him, even little Sherlock notices John’s cluelessness about this situation. 

“I suppose we should have some breakfast.” John suggests, watching the look of horror cross Sherlock’s face. His lips part in shock and he almost loses his dummy. ‘Big Sherlock’  _hates_  breakfast, apparently little Sherlock isn’t a fan either.

“No, Daddy.” Sherlock pouts. 

“It’s the most important meal of the day, you know.” John tries to sound persuasive. Sherlock shakes his head again. “Sherlock, Daddy says you  _have_  to eat breakfast.”

Sherlock, sucking harder on his dummy for a moment. “Will you feed me?”

“You mean...me pick up the spoon and-”

“Yes.” Sherlock nods, watching his Daddy with content eyes. 

“Sure, I don’t see why not.” John shrugs, hoping he’s doing an alright job so far as Sherlock’s daddy. Sherlock wiggles himself off of the bed, and John can’t help but chuckle. On his feet, Sherlock takes John’s hand. “Alright then, let’s go.”

~*~

John had Sherlock sitting at a cleared off spot at the kitchen table. Sherlock looked focused on the microscope, like he’d never seen it before. Like he wanted to know what it was, what it did. John glanced at him every once in a while as he got the tea kettle going before he started cooking. 

“Do you know what you want to eat?”

Sherlock shakes his head, suckling harder on his dummy reflexively from becoming distressed at the idea of eating breakfast. John chuckled lightly. 

“Well, you’ve got to eat something, don’t you think?”

Sherlock shakes his head again. John folds his arms. 

“Would you at least drink something?” John raises an eyebrow. Once more, Sherlock shakes his head. “You wanna know a secret?”

“Secret?” Sherlock gave a lispy response from behind his dummy. 

“Yeah.” John nods, Sherlock seems to be thinking about it before he responds. 

“Ok.” Sherlock looks at John curiously. 

“Good boys have breakfast with their daddy.” John declares and gasps after he says it, to get a reaction out of little Sherlock. “Did you know that??”

“They do?” Sherlock’s eyes widen as well, and John honestly can’t take it. His insides are bubbling up with the urge to giggle at how cute Sherlock is, how childlike the tall man in the kitchen chair was. 

“They do, yeah.” John nods. “And, I think I have a good boy.”

“Me?” Sherlock points to himself.

“It depends, are you good?”

Sherlock nods. “I’m good.”

“Then, I think you should have breakfast.” 

“Uh...” Sherlock looked like he was in thought again, before nodding. “Ok.”

“Yeah?”

Sherlock nods in confirmation. 

“Brilliant, love!” John grins. “What would you like to eat?”

“Biscuits.” Sherlock responds and John sighs. He probably shouldn't have asked the question.

“You’re not going to give me an easy time, are you?” John can’t be upset with the cute little boy. “I’m going to have to really work with you, huh? I don’t know why I’m surprised. You don’t give me an easy time when you’re big.”

“What’s wrong with biscuits, Daddy?” Sherlock’s brow furrows. 

“Those are sweets.” John informs the little Sherlock. “You might end up getting sick if you have too many sweets, especially first thing in the morning. Your body needs fuel.”

“Fuel?”

“Yeah, good food.”

“Biscuits are good.” Sherlock brings his legs up into his seat, resting his chin on his knees. John’s seen him do this before, when he wasn’t little. Then, it seemed such a Sherlockian thing to do. But as he did it in his little way, he seemed smaller and John wished he could pick Sherlock up. He wonders if he could. It’s not that Sherlock was especially heavy. He was the right weight for a man his age and size, maybe even underweight. He hardly ate. 

Still, even if he  _could_  pick Sherlock up, he couldn’t carry him on his hip for long. Not like an actual little boy.

“Oh,” John utters and looks at Sherlock. “What would you drink out of?”

“Oh...” Sherlock brings his legs from his seat and stands up. “Be back!” He toddles quickly down the hall. John can hear shuffling around coming from the younger’s bedroom. 

In Sherlock’s absence, John decides just to make eggs. Simply because it’s easy and he  _knows_  that Sherlock likes eggs, so he shouldn’t complain too much. 

John cracks the eggs into a bowl, enough for himself and Sherlock. Then, he whisks them, adds a bit off seasonings and then turns the fire on underneath a clean skillet. 

When he hears Sherlock walking back, he glances over his shoulder. He has to double take because the younger man’s arms are full of varying sizes and colors of bottles and sippy-cups. 

“Wow, Sherlock.” John comments. “That’s quite the collection.” He watched Sherlock open up a cupboard and set the items down into an empty space. 

“There.” Sherlock says and shuts the door. 

“Which one do you prefer to drink out of?”

“Huh?”

“Bottles or sippy-cups?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“Anything.”

“Which would you prefer that I offer to you more often?”

“Bottle.” Sherlock takes his place back at his seat. “What are you cooking?”

“Eggs.”

“Yucky.” Sherlock draws his legs back up onto his seat and close to his chest. “Don’t want it.”

“You’re going to have eggs, Sherlock.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Sherlock, you aren’t to argue with Daddy, that’s very naughty.”

“No.”

“Sherlock...”

“ _No_.” Sherlock says again, this time with more force. 

John turns around from the stove and gives a very stern look to Sherlock. For a second, Sherlock looks afraid. But, quickly, he gives a stern look back to John, even folds his arms. 

The older man turns the fire off from the skillet, the eggs are done anyway. With a firm stride, John approaches Sherlock and he gets very close to his face. 

“Sherlock, you’re being very naughty.” John informs him. “Now, you can apologize to Daddy for not listening, or you can sit in the corner until breakfast cools enough for you to eat.”

“No.” Sherlock says, but this time, it’s quieter. 

“Fine then.” John ushers a very fussy Sherlock from his seat, and leads him into the living room. He takes Sherlock into the corner and presses on his shoulders, not hard, and directs the boy onto his bottom. “You sit here until I come and get you.”

Sherlock’s eyes are full of tears and they begin to spill, frustrated cries leaving his mouth. While Sherlock’s lips are parted, John takes the dummy. 

“You can also have this back after you eat your breakfast.” John stands upright, watching Sherlock curl himself into a ball and cry even harder. “Next time, you won’t be disobedient with Daddy.”

The older man leaves the weeping Sherlock in the corner and goes back into the kitchen. John feels a bit bad, especially because he’s the cause of Sherlock’s tears. But, these tears aren’t the same as  _big Sherlock_  tears, which John believes he’s never seen. Even last night, Sherlock’s crying took place in more of his little space. 

John also felt like he was in a headspace. He had actually felt like he was Sherlock’s father, and he didn’t feel like Sherlock was an adult anymore. He really felt like he was dealing with a child, _his_ child. 

~*~

A few minutes had passed and Sherlock had stopped crying. He had taken to sitting facing the wall and playing in his curls, furthering their frizzy messy state. 

John tested Sherlock’s eggs against his skin, he’d already eaten his own. They were a bit cooler, but still warm enough to be enjoyable. He thinks about it, and he doesn’t know  _why_ he’d decided to cool them down. Sherlock could've eaten them hot like John had. But...Sherlock was little and little boys don’t eat food that warm. It’d burn his little mouth. 

Sherlock huffed, sitting in his lonely corner. John approached him and cleared his throat. 

“Sherlock, can you look at me?” John asks in a stern, yet gentle voice. The boy looked over his shoulder, he still appeared upset. “Will you apologize now?”

“Yes.”

“Well, go on then.”

“Sorry.”

“That’s not how we apologize.” John sits down, cross-legged in front of Sherlock. “Can you turn around all the way?”

Sherlock complies, and turns to John. His nose is a bit runny, and his face is tear stained. After the apology, John would have to clean his boy up.  _My boy?_  John thought, chuckling at bit at how naturally that came out. 

“If you want to apologize properly, you have to say what for.”

“What for?”

“Yeah, why are you sorry?”

“I was being naughty.” Sherlock answered sadly, tears coming to his eyes again. “And, and...being mean to Daddy.”

“You weren’t being  _mean_ ,” John pets Sherlock’s cheek. “You just weren’t obeying Daddy, and that makes me very disappointed. I don’t like being disappointed in you.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“I know, love.” John wipes at the new tears on Sherlock’s face. “Can Daddy clean up your face, then feed you breakfast?”

Sherlock nods. He watches as John gets up from the floor and grabs the nearby tissue box. The boy allows his Daddy to wipe his eyes and nose. When John is done, he’s still sitting in front of Sherlock and petting his curls.

“Come on, then.” John helps him up and they go and Sherlock eats his breakfast. 

~*~

Sherlock eats every bite of his eggs, and asks for water when he’s done. Because he was good, John allows him his dummy. Sherlock sits in his seat, watching John go about the kitchen, cleaning up the few dishes and the counter top from his cooking. The boy is alternating between his bottle and his dummy as he watches. 

When John is done, he stands in front of Sherlock. 

“What should we do now, huh?” John smiles at his boy.

Sherlock surprises his daddy by pulling the dummy from his mouth. John watches as a thin string of saliva follows the dummy away from Sherlock’s lips. It vanishes quickly, though Sherlock’s lips are still wet and shiny. 

What Sherlock does next is pucker his lips up at John. The older man freezes, knowing all too well what Sherlock wants. 

“Kiss?” Sherlock asks sweetly. John’s brow furrows a bit, but he leans down and brings their lips together. It’s chaste, but sloppy from Sherlock’s moist mouth. Sherlock sweetens the kiss further by going ‘mwah!’ as they separate. He quickly replaces his dummy and kicks his feet. 

“Uh, thank you, Sherlock.” John wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. He is confused as to why Sherlock asked for that and...holy hell he’s just kissed Sherlock. He’s  _just kissed Sherlock Holmes_. John wondered what the media would do if they had seen that. Everyone assumed that Sherlock and John kissed all of the time, but not under  _these_  circumstances. 

The kiss had been chaste and it seemed like something little Sherlock would only do to his daddy. Not something Big Sherlock would  _dare_  to do to John. 

John shook his head and decided to stop dwelling on it. This operation would go smoothly if John just continued to roll with it, like he had been all morning. 

“Play?” Sherlock raises his eyebrows. 

“You want to play?”

“Yes.” Sherlock said in a higher pitched voice. 

“Alright then.” 

~*~

Playtime went on for an hour and a half before Sherlock began to seem sluggish. John couldn’t figure  _why_  though. Big Sherlock never slowed down like this, unless he’d gone days without sleeping and --  _ohhh_ , he’s tired. 

Sherlock had his stuffed snowy owl, clutched with his hand, against his chest. He was laying on his back looking at the ceiling. Slowly, he brought his other hand to the owl and held it up above his head, looking at the detailed white feathers. 

“Would you like to nap?” John sits up and looks at the sprawled out overgrown child. Sherlock turns his head to John and shakes it. “You’re sleepy, though. I think you should nap.”

Sherlock looks like he’s thinking it over for a moment, then he turns back to the owl still held above his head. “If I don’t, I’m naughty?”

“You’ll be _very_ sleepy.” John says. “I don’t know about naughty.”

“Wet.” Sherlock responds, bringing the owl back to his chest.

“What?”

“Wet.” Sherlock repeats and turns back to look at John. They catch eyes for a few beats before John realizes what the boy must mean.

“Your nappy is wet?”

Sherlock nods.

“Can Daddy change it?”

Again, a nod. 

“Alright.” John stands up. “Where do you keep your nappy supplies?” He watches as Sherlock rises onto his knees, walking on them until he meets his closet. He opens it and pulls the lid off of a bin. He pats it, then crawls away. 

John walks to the closet and opens the bin. Inside, John sees several baby items. From dummies to bibs, other things. He’s impressed that Sherlock has managed to collect all of these things without even letting on to John that he might be interested in something like this. 

Sherlock is laying on the floor, eyes drooping with sleepiness. John can hear the soft suckling noises as Sherlock sleepily sucks his dummy. 

John has found the nappies, the wipes and the powder. Even a small tube of nappy cream, should he need it. Hopefully Sherlock hasn’t been wet for too long. John thinks that he might have to start checking Sherlock’s nappy periodically. He doesn’t know if Sherlock is going to tell him right away when he needs a new nappy or not.

“Can you lay on the bed?” John asks the boy, Sherlock complies. He lies on his back. 

The older male is thinking back to the times that he’s been around babies...and he can’t think of many. He knows that changing a nappy can’t be hard though. It’s simple, just take it off, clean Sherlock’s bits and put on a new one. 

John reaches forward one hesitant hand and pulls the first tab. Then the next. His hand brushed passed the filled area of the nappy. It’s still warm, so maybe Sherlock hasn’t been sitting in it too long. 

Sherlock lets out a soft yawn, then continues suckling on his dummy. His face is a bit rouge as John pulls the nappy away from his crotch. The air hits cooly against his wet skin. 

The older man is trying not to stare, which is a silly thing to do, considering that he’s about to clean the area he’s currently trying not to look at. John’s face is just as red as Sehrlock’s, if not redder. 

John’s eyes flicker up into Sherlock’s. “I’m going to clean you now, ok?”

Sherlock nods, clutching his snowy owl tighter as John begins. The doctor makes quick work of the nappy and has Sherlock all cleaned up and into a new one before the little boy could even whine from the cold. 

When John is done changing him, he goes to dispose of the nappy and wash his hands. Coming back into the room, he sees Sherlock laying where he’d left him, dummy laying next to his head, fallen out of his mouth. The boy is snoring softly. 

John takes a moment to smile fondly at his boy before approaching him. He shakes Sherlock gently.

“Come get under the covers.” John pulls the blanket back. Sherlock crawls up the bed to the opened blanket. He worms underneath it and lets John tuck him in. However, as soon as he’s tucked in, he bolts up and looks frantic. “What, what is it?”

“Daddy...” Sherlock whines, still with his eyes darting around the room. John’s pulse quickens at the frightened expression on Sherlock’s face. It isn’t until Sherlock inserts his thumb into his mouth that John realizes that his dummy is missing. 

“Oh...is it this?” John picks the dummy up and holds it out to Sherlock. The boy’s eyes light up and he takes his thumb from his mouth, letting his lips stay parted open a bit to receive the dummy. John pushes it between Sherlock’s lips and watches as it begins to bob. 

“Thank you, Daddy.” Sherlock nestles back down into the bed. 

“You’re welcome.” John says and tucks Sherlock in again. “Do you need me to stay with you?”

“Um...no.” Sherlock shakes his head. 

“Are you sure?”

“You wanna go do other stuff.”

“My first priority is being here with you, Sherlock.” John says and the boy’s face looks stricken. The childish cloud in his eyes disappears and suddenly little Sherlock is gone. 

“Thank you...John.” Sherlock looks John in his eyes. 

“You’re welcome, Sherlock.” John smiles softly, it takes Sherlock a few moments, but he smiles back. The younger man props his head up on his hand. 

“How was I?” Sherlock asks like he doesn’t know. John sits down on the side of the bed. 

“A bit naughty, as I expected. But, very damn cute.”

Sherlock grins and bites his bottom lip. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” John nods. “You ate your breakfast, then we played.”

“Uh-huh.” Sherlock takes in the information before asking his next question. “How about the nappy?”

“Very clear urine, the past few days of keeping you hydrated seem to have-”

“Not a doctor’s analysis, I mean...the experience.”

“Oh...” John chuckles. “It was...just changing a nappy. I was surprised a bit by the-” John stops himself. The comment he was about to make would’ve been odd.

“Surprised by what?” Sherlock’s eyes squint a bit as he focuses on John. 

“Your, uh... _hair_  is very neatly groomed.” John clears his throat after he says it, he shifts a bit. Sherlock gives a solid ‘HA!’ laugh at John’s words. 

“You’re surprised that I groom my pubic hair?”

“I just didn’t think you were the kind of person to do that.”

“I’m a man of science.” Sherlock says. “I run multiple strange science experiments in our kitchen and I solve murders as a hobby. Yet, your only concern is that I groom ‘down there’.”

“It’s not a  _concern_ , just an observation.” 

“I’ll consider my pubes well observed then.” Sherlock inserts the dummy back into his mouth, instantly looking sleepier. 

“Sherlock,” John says, hoping to catch Big Sherlock before he disappears. “One more thing?”

Sherlock brings his eyes up to John, raises a brow. “Yes?”

“Why’d you kiss me...earlier?”

Sherlock blinks a few times. “Affection.” He replies, voice still deep from behind his dummy.

“But why?”

“I appreciated my daddy taking such good care of me.”

“So, it wasn’t romantic or anything?”

“I was being little,” Sherlock shakes his head. “Romance is the last thing on my mind when I’m little.”

“Oh, good.” John says and clears his throat. “So, I’m being a good daddy so far?”

Sherlock nods. 

“And...me putting you in time out was alright?”

“It felt so  _good_.” Sherlock takes the dummy from his mouth. “It felt amazing to be taken control of. I always have to lead, I never get to follow. And, being forced to follow your order made me feel so protected,so little, John.” 

“You liked it that much?”

“Yes, and not just because it made me feel little.” Sherlock says. “I got to let out my frustrations. I got to curl up and cry as loud as I wanted, for as long as I wanted. And you didn’t judge me.”

“Since when do you care what other people think?” John accidentally says the words to Sherlock. The younger man’s eyes widen a bit. “I’m sorry, Sherlock I-”

“I don’t.” Sherlock shakes his head. “Not really. I care about rather or not people think I’m a held together adult...but I don’t care about what they think  _specifically._ But, John...I care what  _you_  think.”

“Really? Me?” It’s John’s turn to look surprised. 

“I always have.” Sherlock yawns and inserts his dummy into his mouth. “Can I sleep now?”

“Yes, I’m sorry, Sherlock.” John leans down instinctually to press a kiss to his boy’s forehead. “I’m going to be right back.”

“Where are you going, Daddy?”

“Check my email, then probably to the loo and then I’ll be right here and I’ll lay down with you.”

“Why don’t you just wear a nappy?”

John blushes. “I...couldn’t do that. I’m not little.”

“Anybody can wear a nappy.”

“Get some sleep, Sherlock.” 


	7. Juice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VERY IMPORTANT: 
> 
> I'm posting chapters 7-10 today!  
> I will most likely post multiple chapters at a time with every update!

Sherlock woke up alone. For a moment, he forgot that John knew about all of this. About his little side, and the desire to be taken care of. He forgot that John had told Sherlock that he was his first priority. 

But, it all came rushing back quickly and a lazy smile spread over his face as he stretched. He hadn’t felt this good in years, easily. He felt well rested and content in every way. He felt worry free and very calm. 

When he sat up, he looked around the room. Instantly, he missed John. If he wasn’t in his little headspace, he would suppress it. Let it pool together with his other emotions and lock them away in his mind palace somewhere unreachable. So, he can focus on more concrete things. Feelings weren’t concrete at all. More like jelly, wobbly and able to slip through your fingers if you hold on too tightly. 

But, in his little state, he let himself feel the emptiness of loneliness. He let the tears come to his eyes as he put his dummy into his mouth and picked up his snowy owl. He toddled slowly from his bedroom in search of John. It didn’t take him long to make his way down the hall, through the kitchen and into the living room where John was sitting. 

The older man looked up as Sherlock entered the room. 

“Hi, Sherlock.” John greeted him with a simple smile. He had a mug of tea sitting on the coffee table, his laptop in his lap. “What’s wrong?” He noticed the tears in Sherlock’s eyes. 

“Missed Daddy.” Sherlock responds, holding his owl tight to his chest. 

“Come here, love.” John closes his laptop and sits it on the coffee table alongside his tea. John opens his arms. 

Little Sherlock doesn’t debate whether he’s too big for John’s lap or not. Without thought, he straddles John’s lap so they’re chest to chest and hides his face in the crook of John’s neck. 

“I’m sorry, Sherlock.” John murmurs. “I got caught up answering emails and such. I should’ve came to lay down with you so you wouldn’t have had to wake up alone.”

“I don’t mind.”

“You’re sad.”

“I mind a little.” Sherlock breathes in John’s scent, it’s warm and familiar. “I’m just glad you’re here now.” 

“I’ll always be here.” John pats the boy’s back. Sherlock’s weight is comfortable against John. The older man feels grounded and very comforted. He’s gaining something from this experience as well. John’s learning to let himself feel, too. 

He and Sherlock have always been good friends. But, John is a really physical person. Not so much sexually, but he loved to be held near and to be in the close company of someone else. With Sherlock, he always had to keep his distance, because the man didn’t like the constant touches that John had tried to give him. Now, he didn’t have to hold back. He could touch, pet and hold Sherlock all he wanted to. 

They sat like that for what felt like a long time. Until Sherlock picked his head up from John’s neck. He looked into John’s eyes, curls wild over his head. 

“What’s up, love?” John pet his baby’s messy hair. 

“Juice?” Sherlock asks, voice small and sweet. 

“Do we...have juice?” John can’t remember buying any, and he knows darn well that Sherlock wouldn’t have. 

“Downstairs.” Sherlock says.

“Down...stairs?” John raises an eyebrow. “You mean...Mrs. Hudson’s flat?”

“Uh-huh.” Sherlock nods. 

“We can’t just take her juice, Sherlock.”

“Yes.”

“No.” John shakes his head. “That’s not nice.”

“Ask first.” Sherlock shrugs, climbing his way off of John’s lap to take his place next to his daddy. 

“If she doesn’t have any, or she says no...do you want Daddy to go to the store? It won’t take long.”

“No, no, no!” Sherlock whines. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“You...could come with me.” John suggests and Sherlock thinks about it. “Would you like that?”

“Yeah.” Sherlock nods.

“Ok, baby.” John smiles. “I’m going to go check downstairs first.”

Sherlock nodded and sat on the couch with his owl while he waited for his daddy to come back.

~*~

John trotted down the stairs quickly with Sherlock’s bottle in his hand. It came to his attention that this probably wasn’t the best idea. What if Mrs. Hudson saw the bottle and asked why he had it? He should’ve just come down for the container of juice and taken it back up to their flat. 

John wasn’t sure rather to chicken out now or not. But, he stayed and made quick work of searching Mrs. Hudson’s fridge. He saw two different kinds of juice. Grapefruit and apple. John knew Sherlock would want the apple juice, so he rinsed out the bottle and filled it with the juice. 

The doctor was just putting back the carton of juice when Mrs. Hudson came into the kitchen. John quickly moved to where the bottle was sitting on the counter and stood in front of it, keeping the bottle out of sight. 

“Oh, Mrs. Hudson...hello.” John smiles at her nervously. She eyes him for a moment. 

“Hello, John.” She folds her arms. “You seem...twitchy.”

“Twitchy? Me? No!” John picks up the bottle behind his back and starts inching towards the door to her flat. 

“What have you got behind your back?”

“It’s a surprise for Sherlock.”

“What kind of surprise? You two have been very quiet up there all day.” Mrs. Hudson comments. “Though, it did sound like I’d heard someone...crying up there.”

“It was the telly,” John lied. “Getting Sherlock into crap telly was a _huge_ mistake, turns out.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Hudson chuckles. “Once, I got my sister into this drama called-”

“I’ve got to run!” John backed up out of the flat and ran up to his and Sherlock’s. When he got up there, the boy was sitting on the couch where John had left him. 

“Daddy, hi!” Sherlock beamed when he came into the room. 

“Hi, baby.” John comes over to the couch, nervousness flooding out of his body seeing Sherlock smile. Seeing his boy so happy to see him made John happy. 

“Juice?” Sherlock pointed to the clear plastic bottle with blue and red sailboats patterned on it, filled with the apple juice. 

“Yes, juice.” John sat down on the couch. “Do you want to hold the bottle yourself or-” John is cut off by Sherlock laying across his lap. 

“Daddy do it.” Sherlock responds. 

“Oh, alright.” John’s shifts a bit to get more comfortable, and so he can let Sherlock’s head rest on the arm of the sofa to give him a better drinking angle. When they’re both ready, John taps on the item in Sherlock’s mouth. “Can Daddy take your dummy so he can give you the juice?”

Sherlock nods, letting his mouth go lax so John could take it. When John takes it, he hesitates a bit, wanting to ask something of the boy. 

“Sherlock?” John says in a nearly silent voice. 

“Yes?”

“Can Daddy have a kiss?” 

Sherlock closes his eyes and gives a breathy laugh. It’s the kind of thing big Sherlock would do, and when Sherlock opens his eyes, John can see that little Sherlock has vanished. 

It seems like whenever John really strikes a chord in Sherlock’s emotions, the little Sherlock goes away. 

“John,” Sherlock looks up at the older man. “You don’t have to ask.”

“What?”

“If you want to kiss me, kiss me.” Sherlock says, reaching up to touch John’s face. It doesn’t feel like a romantic gesture, just one of fondness.

“Are you sure?” John raises a brow. “You asked me, earlier.”

“I wasn’t sure if you knew what I wanted...so I asked.” Sherlock shrugs. “But...you don’t have to do that.”

“Oh,” John clears his throat before nodding. “Alright then.”

“Um...yeah.” Sherlock’s eyes flicker back to the bottle in John’s hands. “So, hurry up and kiss me. So, I can have my bottle, John.” The words sounded so _different_ coming out of big Sherlock’s mouth. 

“O-oh, alright.” John responds, looking down at the man laid across his lap. He didn’t quite look like _little_ Sherlock. There was a childishness in his eyes, but he could still see big Sherlock poking through. Was it really ok to kiss him when he was like this? 

For some reason, the idea of kissing Sherlock in his ‘in between’ state felt like cheating. Like, somehow he was taking advantage of the younger man. 

“John, it’s ok.” Sherlock reached his hand up to John’s face, this time, Sherlock was pulling John’s face down to his own. “I trust you.” 

“Sherlock, I-” John was cut off by warm lips against his own. The kiss wasn’t heated with emotions, it wasn’t sexual, or passionate. It was chaste still, not as sloppy as the last one. 

There was motion, unlike the ‘little Sherlock’ kiss that the boy had given to him. This kiss was so much more alive. It was a being, created between their mouths.

Sherlock’s lips were pressing against his own...but it didn’t read ‘romance’. Instead it read: ‘ **comfort** ’ and ‘ **protect me, because I’ll protect you** ’ and ‘ **I will not hurt you** ’. 

It also read ‘ **I trust you with the most vulnerable parts of me** ’.

John wanted Sherlock to know that he meant those things too, so he pressed his lips back against Sherlock’s in return. This kiss lasted only seconds, but it told the longest story. 

When they separated, they stared at each other. As they kept eye contact, John watched as big Sherlock disappeared completely this time and little Sherlock came back in full force. 

“Daddy, thirsty.” Sherlock parted his lips for the bottle. 

“Oh, right.” John had forgotten why Sherlock was across his lap to begin with. He brought the bottle to Sherlock's lips and the baby latched on. It took Sherlock a few tries to get the right suckling rhythm to get the juice to flow properly. But, when he had it, he made soft nursing noises as he swallowed. 

John couldn’t help but smile as he watched his boy. John used the hand that wasn’t holding the bottle for Sherlock to gently touch his face. John traced the blunt curve of Sherlock’s jaw. He traced the shape of both of the boy’s eyebrows. Then, along Sherlock’s pretty eyelashes. John really did have the perfect little boy. 

“Sherlock,” John begins, the boy’s eyes focus up into his. “Even though you’re having your juice now, we need to run to the store to get our own in a little while. Ok?”

Sherlock nodded a bit, continuing to drink his bottle. 

“You still want to come with Daddy, right?”

Another small nod from the boy. 

“Alright,” John smiles down at him. “We’ll leave in about a half hour, ok?”

Sherlock nods, reaching up a hand to hold onto the fabric of John’s shirt. Slowly, Sherlock let his eyes close, he continues suckling for a little while. When he’s had enough, he pushes the nipple out of his mouth with his tongue, unlatching himself. 

John takes the hint and leans forward to put the bottle on the coffee table. Sherlock shifts around a bit in John’s lap and they’re both quiet for a moment, until Sherlock lets out a small burp. His eyes open and he blushes, clearly embarrassed.

The older male is a bit surprised, not in a bad way. It’s just that he’s never heard Sherlock do _that_ before, and John’s basically a child himself anyway and begins to giggle. Sherlock looks crossly at him as John begins laughing. Little Sherlock is clearly gone at this point. 

“Sorry,” Sherlock’s frown dissipates and he just looks sheepish as he apologizes for belching. 

“Don’t be.” John says between his giggles. “You’re a baby, I _should_ burp you after you’ve had a bottle, actually.”

“Don’t.” Sherlock frowns again. 

“Ah-ah.” John gives the warning sound. “Sherlock, this whole thing is about just ‘being’ right?”

“Yeah...but-”

“Burping is part of being, so are all other bodily functions.”

“John...I want to be _little_ , not a pig.” Sherlock rolls his eyes. When he notices that he’s still holding on to John’s shirt, he lets go of it. 

“Have you ever seen a baby burp, then get embarrassed?”

“Well, no...John.” Sherlock shrugs. “Babies don’t feel shame.”

“Which is why you shouldn’t.” John rubs Sherlock’s tummy through his shirt comfortingly. “I’m not going to judge you...if you do...anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what I said,” John says. “Whatever you do, little or big, I won’t judge you. I never have.”

Sherlock’s eyes search John’s face to see if he means it or not. When he can tell that John means it, Sherlock smiles up at his flatmate. 

“John,”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.” Sherlock turns onto his side so that he can press his face into the softness of John’s stomach. The doctor’s stomach isn’t completely soft, but Sherlock likes the fact that it’s soft enough to be a cuddly spot to rub his face. He also likes that it inflates and deflates as John breathes. 

It’s a sign that John is alive, and a sign that John is right here with him, right now. Sherlock giggles into John’s tummy, and that let’s John know that little Sherlock is back. 

“What’s so funny, love?” John likes that he and Sherlock can transition in and out of ‘big’ and ‘little’ time. Especially as they’re still learning how this new part of their relationship works. It lets them not have to worry about making mistakes. 

“I’m laughing because I’m happy.”

“Why are you happy, baby?”

“I love Daddy.” Sherlock says, his voice muffled still as his face remains pressed into John’s belly. The older male feels his heart stop. Sherlock tilts his head away from John’s stomach and looks up at the doctor, he giggles as he does this. “I love Daddy a lot.”

“I...I love you too, Sherlock.” John looks down at his boy. They make silent eye contact for a second, little Sherlock and Daddy John. The father and son gaze is broken by John glancing up at the clock. “Oh,” John utters. 

“What?” Sherlock blinks up at his daddy.

“We should probably get ready to head out, now.” John says. “So we can go get a few groceries for my little boy.”

“For Daddy too?”

“Well...yes, for Daddy too.”

“Like milk?” Little Sherlock asks, even he remembers that John is always complaining about the lack of milk in the house. 

“Yes, we actually do need some milk.” 

“I knew it.” Sherlock grins. 

“You did,” John smiles back at him. “You’re my smart boy.”

Sherlock continues to grin up at his daddy. John remembers Sherlock saying that John can kiss him when he’d like. So, John takes Sherlock up on his word and drops a chaste kiss onto the boy’s mouth. Both of them say ‘mwah!’ when they part. Sherlock seems absolutely gleeful about this, because he giggles like mad after they kiss. 

John likes the way that Sherlock lets his happiness bubble straight out of him. Sherlock must be right about the joy of being little. Being able to express exactly what one feels as you’re feeling it. 

When Sherlock’s giggling has stopped, the boy sits up from where he was laying across John’s lap. He looks around for his dummy, John notices and picks it up. Sherlock parts his lips to receive the item. When John brings it to his lips, Sherlock latches on. 

“Thank you.” Sherlock’s little voice sounds very grateful, like John had given him a long drink of water after he’d had a walk in the desert. 

“You’re welcome, baby.” John smiles softly then decides that it really is time for them to get going. He glances at Sherlock’s nappy. “Can Daddy check your nappy?”

Sherlock looks down at his nappy, then nods. He sits on his bottom and parts his legs a bit so John can feel it. John’s hand is gentle as he feels the front of the boy’s nappy. It’s wet, and cool. Sherlock’s been wet for a while now. 

John feels a bit bad that he didn’t check sooner. 

“Let’s get your nappy changed and head out, ok?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Sherlock gets up off the couch, ready to follow John back to his bedroom. 

The older male picks up Sherlock’s bottle as they leave the living room. He pops it into the fridge on their way to Sherlock’s room. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VERY IMPORTANT: 
> 
> I'm posting chapters 7-10 today!  
> I will most likely post multiple chapters at a time with every update!
> 
> (I put the message at the bottom and top, just to make sure you all see it! Thanks for reading <3)


	8. Simple Shopping

When they get to Sherlock's room, the boy lays down on his back on the bed as he’d done earlier. Sherlock suckles a bit harder on his dummy as he remembers that he’d left his snowy owl on sofa in the living room. He liked holding it last time he got his nappy changed. It let him focus on something else other than his bits being exposed to John for the nappy change. Not that he so much minded, he trusted John of course. 

It was then that Sherlock realized that he wasn’t in his little space anymore. He was having far too much thought to be in his little space. He felt bad asking John to go get his owl, but he really needed it right now, to help him slip back into his head space. 

However, they _were_ about to be leaving the flat soon. Maybe...it would be best that Sherlock was in his ‘big’ mental state to avoid any ‘situations’. 

So, Sherlock laid there and let his nappy be changed. John gently nudged Sherlock’s legs apart and undid the tapes on Sherlock’s wet nappy. The very act of being changed made Sherlock feel littler. But, it was when he realized that John was humming a song, that Sherlock was sure that he’s heard before...that’s when Sherlock slipped completely into his little state. 

Sherlock watched his daddy bobbing his head as he opened the package of wipes. He giggles at his daddy because, goodness, he certainly looked silly. John flashed a quick smile at his boy. 

John took a wipe from the package and gently wiped it across Sherlock’s genitals, cleaning him thoroughly. Next, he took another wipe and went to clean Sherlock’s bum. Of course, he continued to hum the entire time. Sherlock’s grin grew every once in a while, if John threw in a silly dance move or a face. 

Sherlock liked watching John be silly. Usually, the older male was much more sedentary. Unless they were on a case. 

John put on a little nappy cream over Sherlock’s bits. The boy didn’t have a rash, but he didn’t know how long Sherlock had been wet before, and he wanted to treat the skin before it broke out in a rash at all. But, when he went to put a new nappy on Sherlock, he hesitated. 

“Uh...” John hums a contemplative note. “Should...we put on a nappy...for going out?”

“I’d...like a nappy.” Sherlock starts to slip out of his little space.

“Would it be noticeable under your clothes? Maybe not with your long coat, right?”

“I think I’ll be fine.” Sherlock responds, completely big now. “I just don’t want to have an accident.”

“Do you think you would? Without your nappy?”

“My bladder is always the hardest thing to gain back after being little.”

“Oh...well, alright. Nappy it is.” John smiles. “Besides, we’re not going to be gone long.”

~*~

Sherlock followed closely behind John, he had to fight the urge to hold John’s hand. Sherlock wasn’t in the right mindset for grocery shopping, he was still little. There were too many people and he could never stay close enough to his daddy to feel completely safe. 

John could sense that his little boy was feeling kind of scared, and he felt bad. He knew that if he’d left Sherlock at home, he’s still be feeling bad. And, Sherlock would be feeling lonely and still a bit frightened. 

Whenever John could, he sneaked a few pets to Sherlocks hands, arms or back. When Sherlock would feel John’s hand against his own, Sherlock would lace their fingers. Just for a second. If they came to an aisle that wasn’t really occupied, they’d speak to each other. 

“Daddy,” Sherlock whispered. 

“I’m here baby, Daddy’s right here.” John would reassure him. “You’re doing so well, and Daddy’s _very_ proud of you.” John ran a hand over Sherlock’s arm. “You’re very, very brave.”

Sherlock tried not to let his eyes get teary. “I don’t feel very brave Daddy, I don’t feel brave at all.”

“You are, Daddy promises. I promise, Sherlock.” John says back, but someone else comes down the aisle and Sherlock assumes proper posture. He stands at attention like a soldier and continues following John. 

In John’s shopping trolley, he has a few items for meal time. Then, some teething biscuits for Sherlock, because he thinks the boy would fancy them. Also, he grabs a container of baby formula mix. He had seen Sherlock eyeing it, along with some other baby food items. Like the pureed fruits and veggies. Bananas, carrots. John feels a twinge of excitement as he imagines himself feeding these things to Sherlock. He doesn’t know why the activity excited him so much. John just imagines that it’d be fun to feed these things to Sherlock. Besides, maybe he’d be more eager to eat baby things. 

Finally, the shopping adventure is over and they’re standing in line at the check out area. Sherlock eyed the candies on the shelf, but John wasn’t going to give in and buy him candy. He didn’t want Sherlock eating too many sweets. Besides, Sherlock didn’t ask for them. So, John didn’t even have to say ‘no’. 

“I help, Daddy?” Sherlock’s sentence structure is much more babylike, and he’s speaking almost loud enough for someone close enough to hear. John can tell that Sherlock is regressing further under the stress of feeling so scared. He’d have to get them home soon. 

“You can help, thank you.” John watches as Sherlock carefully lifts the lighter items from the trolley. Sherlock is pleased with himself as he helps his daddy. 

The line is moving along and as their items begin to get rung up, Sherlock tugs on John’s sleeve discretely. John leans close to Sherlock, offering the boy his ear. 

“Daddy, I’m wet.” Sherlock whispers in the man’s ear. John was glad that they’d decided to let Sherlock wear a nappy. The older male nodded when Sherlock gave him the news. 

“We’ll be home soon.” He whispered back. The cashier was watching the two men whispering to each other, they couldn’t hear what John and Sherlock were saying. But, they’d noticed the baby items they were ringing up, and the worried expression on Sherlock’s face. 

“You two new parents or something?” The cashier asks. Sherlock and John both turn to them.

“What?” John asks, Sherlock simply narrows his eyes. 

“Just asking if you two are new parents.” The person says again. “You look like me, the first time I left my daughter with a baby sitter.”

John wasn’t sure what to say. If they agreed to being new parents, every time they came in and that person rang up their items, they’d have to lie. Maybe-

“None of your business.” Sherlock replies sharply, baritone voice booming at the young cashier. The person looks guilty. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry for asking.” The cashier quickly rings up the last few things. 

“No...it’s really alright.” John frowns apologetically at them, then up at Sherlock angrily. Sherlock didn’t notice John’s glare because he was too busy continuing to give his own glare at the cashier. 

After John paid for everything, he apologized again and Sherlock followed him out of the store. 

“Was that necessary?” John asks once they’re outside. 

“It really wasn’t any of their business.” Sherlock shrugs. “Would you rather have lied?”

“Well...no, not really. But-”

“Then I did a fine job of covering for us. A ‘thank you’ isn’t needed, but would be nice to hear.”

“Thank you, arsehole.” John rolls his eyes playfully, noting the small smile on the detective’s face. 

“John,” Sherlock says as he swings one of the grocery bags in his hands. He doesn’t usually help carry any of the groceries, because he never grocery shops with John. But, John appreciates not having to struggle with the bags alone this time. 

“Yes, Sherlock?”

“When we get home, I want to kiss you.” Sherlock says casually, but John nearly drops his bags. 

“What?”

“Kiss.” Sherlock repeats, again very casually. 

“W-what?” John says again and for some reason, Sherlock finds this especially funny and he lets out hearty laughter. 

“Why does that fluster you so much, John?”

“Because! We’re friends!”

“I don’t mean romantically,” Sherlock rolls his eyes this time. “Like earlier...when we kissed. I felt so safe, I just want to feel safe, Daddy.” Sherlock’s tone shifted into his between state again. In between big and little. 

John understands now. When they kissed earlier, in Sherlock’s in between state, John had felt safe too. He felt like Sherlock was _there_ , like he was connected to him. And Sherlock was right, it wasn’t romantic. It was more of a declaration that couldn’t be said with words. 

“Ok,” John nods, Sherlock looks over his shoulder at him.

“Yeah?” Sherlock raises an eyebrow. 

“Yes,” John nods again “But, we have to change your nappy first. You said you were wet.”

Sherlock looks fondly at John, he has a smile on his face. He’s never felt this safe and taken care of before. 

“Thank you, John.”


	9. Mycroft then Movies

Back at the flat, John and Sherlock sit their grocery bags on the table. 

“I’m going to put these away.” John informs Sherlock. “You just get ready for Daddy to change your nappy, alright?”

“Daddy was it?” The two men hear a voice from the living room. 

“Mycroft?” Sherlock’s eyes widen. The older brother stands up. 

“Nappy?” Mycroft slowly crosses the living room and enters the kitchen. He reaches his umbrella forward and nudges it against Sherlock’s crotch, hearing the nappy crinkle at the contact. “Fascinating, really.”

John nearly hisses at Mycroft, feeling extremely protective over Sherlock. Mycroft glances at John, noticing the clenched jaw the doctor is currently wearing. 

“Do relax, John.” Mycroft says. “I won’t harm your precious boy. He is my brother, remember? I’d never hurt him.”

“What the  _hell_  are you doing here, Mycroft?” Sherlock narrows his eyes, clearly not even a little embarrassed by any of this. John however, would’ve melted into a puddle of embarrassment long ago. But, his anger kept him solid and alert. He was watching every move Mycroft made around his baby. 

“Coming to check on you, dear brother.” Mycroft says. “You’ve been ignoring Lestrade’s messages about the cases. So, I had to make sure you were alright. These aren’t boring cases, and you never refuse an interesting case.”

“I was taking a day off.” Sherlock defends.

“A day off to play ‘baby’ with John Watson?” Mycroft grins smugly. “It’s cute, brother mine.”

“Has Mycroft known about this...Sherlock?” John asks, Sherlock glances over his shoulder at him. 

“Of course.” Sherlock responds. “He’s gone snooping through my things. Found the baby items long ago. I had no choice but to explain it to him, or be ridiculed.”

“I appreciate what you’re doing for my brother, John.” Mycroft is speaking sincerely. “He really does need to be taken care of, quite literally, as you can see.”

“I don’t mind doing this for him.” John says. “I enjoy it.”

“You two really are just made for each other, aren’t you?” Mycroft looks from his brother to John. “I’m only here to warn you both, then you can go back to your games.”

“Warn us?” John repeats. 

“Yes,” Mycroft nods. “This ‘age play’ is fine, each person has their own...thrill. However, Sherlock you are really a grown man. John...well, I suppose you’re still Sherlock’s caretaker no matter how you flip the coin.”

John’s brow creases.

“Anyway,” Mycroft clears his throat. “You are both  _very_  important people in the real world. Don’t get lost in your fake one.” Mycroft’s eyes focus on his brother. “There are cases to be  _solved_ , Sherlock. You make differences in people’s lives with your job. As much as you pretend to hate mankind, because they’re so flawed, the reality is that your job  _helps_  people.”

“I know, I know.” Sherlock motioned to the door. “Do be going, now.”

“Don’t lose touch with reality, Sherlock.” Mycroft chuckles. “I’ll leave your daddy to attend to your...nappy.” He closes the door behind him when he leaves. All the while, he continued to laugh down the stairs and out of 221B. 

When he’s gone, Sherlock turns to John. 

“I’m sorry, John.” Sherlock turns to the doctor, who’s frantically began putting groceries away. John doesn’t say anything, and Sherlock can tell something’s up. “You’re upset?”

“Why didn’t you tell me Lestrade was trying to contact us?”

“If Garrett cared so much, he could’ve called you as well.”

“Greg.”

“Who?”

“No matter,” John shakes his head. “He  _didn’t_  call me.”

“Well, then that’s his fault, isn’t it?”

“Sherlock, you can’t isolate us in this world, your brother was right.” John says as he continues to put things away. “Sometimes you have to be big and-”

Sherlock throws himself to the floor dramatically. He begins whining, not so much crying. He’s just having a temper tantrum. 

“I don’t want to!” Sherlock screams, his voice completely little. “I don’t want to be big!”

“Well, you are.” John says, knowing that maybe he shouldn’t have. The point of Sherlock’s little side, was to be cared for, and soothed. John should’ve been more gentle. But...John felt upset. He couldn’t figure as to why. Still, there was no use taking it out on the baby. 

John finished putting up the groceries, letting Sherlock have his moment on the floor. When he finished putting up the items, he sat on the floor in front of Sherlock. 

“Sit up.” John nudges the little boy’s shoulder. 

“No!” Is the angry response. 

“You’re not going to sit up for Daddy?”

“No!”

“But, Daddy’s ready for kisses now.” John chuckles as that puts an abrupt stop to Sherlock’s tantrum. The boy peeks up from his folded arms, face red from his fussing. 

“We can kiss now?”

“Yeah, come here, baby.” John opens his arms. The little boy crawls over to his daddy. He works his legs over John’s so they’re close. John pushes Sherlock’s curls from his forehead, they’re stuck there with a bit of sweat, from Sherlock working himself up during his tantrum. “Daddy is very proud of you.”

“Why?” Sherlock’s little voice asks. 

“Because, you were very good in the store. Even though you were scared.” John leans forward and presses one small kiss to Sherlock’s lips. “Because you helped Daddy take the items out of the shopping trolley.” Another kiss to the boy’s mouth. “Because you helped Daddy carry the bags to the flat.” Another sweet kiss for his boy. “And because you didn’t fight with your brother.” 

The final kiss was longer, but just as chaste and sweet. The longer kiss allowed Sherlock to kiss back, hands holding onto John’s jumper. He was absorbing the safe feeling straight from John’s lips, and it filled him completely with warmth. 

They were both so connected to only each other, that neither of them heard the feet coming up the stairs to their flat. They were only aware of someone else’s presence with they heard the gasp. 

“Oh!” Mrs. Hudson exclaims when she sees them kissing in a tangled heap on the kitchen floor. 

“ _Damn_  it.” John curses. “We need a bloody guard dog!” 

Sherlock looks behind himself at Mrs. Hudson. He’s still very much in his little state.  The boy scoots himself off of John, to look at the biscuits that Mrs. Hudson’s brought up on a tray. 

“Johnny, dear. I’m sorry but, I thought I could catch Mycroft before he left! I had no idea that you two were, uh-”

“It’s  _not_  what it looks like.” John puts his hands over his face. 

“Right, of course.” Mrs. Hudson giggles which was her way of saying: ' _John, I’ve just seen you two kissing. What else could it possibly look like?_ ' but she doesn’t say it. 

“Mycroft left quickly after our short chat.” John informs her, he hears Sherlock shuffling up onto his feet. The boy doesn’t say anything, just makes his way to the plate of biscuits. He picks up one and nibbles it childishly, a mix between sucking and small bites. John can see the biscuit beginning to glisten with drool from where he’s standing. Luckily, Mrs. Hudson’s back is to him. 

“Right,” Mrs. Hudson claps her hands together. “I’ll let you two get back to  _it_.” She leaves the flat, closing the door behind her. 

John sighed and watched her leave, then he looked up at his baby. 

“Don’t eat too many of those biscuits, Sherlock.” John warns, coming over to the boy who’s still eating his now slightly sodden biscuit. “Let’s get you out of these ‘big’ clothes, huh?”

Sherlock nodded, mushed biscuit on his face now. 

John takes off Sherlock’s scarf. His coat next, careful not to get any biscuit mush on the lovely clothing item. Underneath his coat, was still his ‘little’ shirt with pi on the front. John had let Sherlock keep that on since they were only to be going out for a little while and no one was going to see it. 

Next, John directed Sherlock through removing his shoes. He saved the trousers for when he was actually going to be changing the boy. 

“How about Daddy goes and gets the nappy supplies and we change you here, so you can finish your biscuit? We don’t want crumbs in the bedroom.”

Sherlock nods again and sits on the floor while John goes down the hall. When he returns he had a towel, a nappy, and the other supplies. 

John lays the towel on the floor and pats it. 

“Come on, love.” John says. “You’ve been in that wet nappy long enough.”

Sherlock comes over to John and lays down on the towel. John takes off the trousers, folds them neatly and sets them aside. Sherlock focuses on his biscuit, which is almost gone by now. 

“Would you like a bath later tonight?” John asks. 

“Yes.” Sherlock responds, putting the last of the biscuit into his mouth. 

“Was that yummy, sweetheart?” John undoes the tabs and opens the wet nappy. 

“Uh-huh.” The boy nods, propping himself up on his elbows to watch as John cleans him. The older man looks up at Sherlock’s curious face. Sherlock hasn’t tried to watch before. 

“What?” John asks, questioning the boy’s curious expression. 

“Nothing, Daddy.” Sherlock responds and lays back down flat. John shrugs off Sherlock’s curiousness and finishes cleaning the boy up. After Sherlock is in his new nappy, John cleans his baby’s hands and face with a clean wipe because they were sticky from his biscuit mush.

“Alright,” John sighs, patting the boy’s bum as he stands up. “What now?”

“Movie?”

“You want to watch a movie? Hm, alright then.” John says. “Is it alright if Daddy does some things on his laptop while you watch your movie?”

“Yes.” Sherlock says. 

John sets the boy up with a movie, Sherlock has chosen a children’s film. Which, makes sense. The boy watches the movie laid on the floor with his owl, dummy in his mouth. Sherlock giggles every once in a while, at something silly in the movie. John looks up to smile at him when he does.

~*~

Halfway through the film, Sherlock gets up to visit John. He sits next to his daddy on the sofa. John absentmindedly reaches up a hand and cards it through Sherlock’s curls. 

“Hey, love.” John greets his boy. 

“Daddy,” Sherlock says, voice a bit whiney. John looks up with concern in his eyes. 

“What’s wrong?”

“My tummy hurts.” Sherlock holds his arms out to his daddy. John puts his laptop on the coffee table and pulls Sherlock into his lap. 

“Do you feel like you might get sick?”

“No.”

“Then...it could be gas, or...you could need to go poo.” John blushes, saying the last bit. 

“No.” Sherlock shakes his head, but this time it’s not a statement, it’s a rejection of John’s words.

“You can’t say ‘no’ to that, Sherlock.” John shrugs. “I told you it was going to happen eventually. And...I also told you that I don’t mind. It can’t be helped.”

“No.” Sherlock shakes his head again. 

“Yeah, yeah.” John kisses Sherlock’s hair. “You and all of your ‘no’ this and ‘no’ that.”

“No.” Sherlock says again, though this time he’s giggling. 

“Go finish your movie love,” John pats Sherlock’s arm. “It’ll distract you from your tummy. But, if you’re still hurting in a little while, Daddy will do something to help it.”

“M’kay.” Sherlock scoots off the couch and goes back to his spot on the floor where he’s left his owl. 

Moments pass by with neither of them saying anything. John absorbed in his internet surfing, Sherlock in his movie. Their mutual silence is broken though, by a soft noise from Sherlock’s bum. The little boy freezes up when it happens and he hopes John hasn’t noticed. 

But, of course he has and John can’t help but laugh. Unlike when he’d burped earlier, Sherlock doesn’t seem as worried about it. He even giggles too. 

_Sherlock Holmes giggling at a fart. If only I could blog about this, it’d be a riot._ John thinks, he clears his throat and speaks up. 

“Feel better?” John asks the boy. Sherlock looks up at him. 

“My tummy doesn’t hurt anymore.” Sherlock announces, John begins chuckling again. 

“Good, baby.” John nods and looks back at his laptop screen.


	10. Dopey Sherlock and Bath Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted chapters 7-10 today, and I was a bit sleepy while editing, so if they're any typos I'm sorry. I'll read through and edit again tomorrow!
> 
> Thanks :)

Dinner time was pleasant. Sherlock didn’t refuse to eat, and he babbled to John about the movie he’d watched. John gave enthused replies to everything Sherlock said, the boy seemed pleased. 

“Sherlock,” John says as he brings the baby fork to Sherlock’s mouth. The boy parts his lips to take the offering. “Tomorrow, would it be alright if I called Lestrade back?”

Sherlock frowned at him, now chewing angrily. 

“We can’t leave him hanging, Sherlock.” John frowns too, apologetically though. “I’m sorry.”

“Fine, Daddy.” Sherlock grumbles with his mouth full. 

“You mean it?” John grins. 

“Yes.” 

“Thank you, Sherlock.” John leans forward and kisses the boy’s forehead. “I’m very lucky.”

“Why, Daddy?”

“I have a very lovely little boy.” John tells him and Sherlock looks up at him with a wide smile. Sometimes, Sherlock really did look like a baby. Especially when he wore shamelessly happy expressions like this one. “We’re almost done.” John said, motioning to the mostly gone meal. Sherlock picks up his sippy-cup and tips it to drink from it. While Sherlock is drinking his juice, John takes a few quick bites of his own dinner. 

Sherlock watches him out of the corner of his eye. John is giving Sherlock his best, and it touches him. It pushes him out of his little state and he puts the sippy-cup down. 

“I love you, John.” Sherlock says in his normal voice. He says it clearly and lets the emotion behind it be heard. John looks up at him, mid chew. John’s eyes widen for a moment, before he blinks the surprised expression from his face. 

“I know.” John looks up at Sherlock, letting their eye contact linger. 

“Not in...so much a romantic way.” Sherlock continues. “It’s not like...the silly shit you see in movies.” John is surprised when Sherlock curses. “It’s...not _romance_. Because, romance dies. Romance is the kind of thing you have to struggle to keep alive between two people.”

“Yes...” John nods in agreement. 

“And, I feel like what we have is more than that.” Sherlock looks away as he thinks. “I feel like it’s going to be with us for a long time.”

John finishes chewing his food, finally. He swallows and takes a deep breath. 

“I love you, too.” John replies and Sherlock’s eyes flicker back to him, a small smile on his face. 

“For a second, I was scared you weren't going to say it back.”

“Why wouldn’t I? You dope.” John rolls his eyes. 

“Dope?” Sherlock arches a brow. “You’re treading on thin ice now, John.”

“How can two people change so much in 24 hours? I feel like this has been the longest day of my life.” John asks, picking up his glass of water. 

“Has it only been a day?” Sherlock honestly sounds surprised. “It feels like it’s been a week.”

“At least a week.” John nods. 

“Thank you, John.” Sherlock says. “I don’t know how you’ve done it, but you’ve accomplished something I’ve always dreamt of doing.”

“What’s that?” John’s brow furrows curiously. Sherlock looks into his eyes as he speaks. 

“Stop time.”

~*~

Sherlock sat in the bath, washcloth draped over his face. He’d asked to be alone for the beginning of the bath, he told John that he’d call when he was ready for him. He felt guilty asking John to be ‘on-call’, but the older man didn’t seem to mind at all. 

The detective just really wanted time to think. He groaned form beneath the wet cloth. It was so _hard_ to think anymore. Which, for Sherlock especially, was very troubling. 

He’d kept the ‘little’ side of him hidden away for so long. He’d only wear his nappies while John was away for a weekend with a woman, or at a doctor’s conference. He’d only have his dummy when John was up in his bedroom, or away for even as short as an hour. It was easy to slip it out of his mouth and jam it into his pocket when John returned. 

And, none of those things were really as satisfying without someone else taking care of him. Which...he’d never had, not really. 

Sherlock once had a relationship with a woman, _years_ ago. He doesn’t remember quite how it started. And, it wasn’t romantic. Sherlock’s never had ‘romance’, it wasn't something he looked for in other people. Mostly because he doesn’t like people. 

But the relationship with the woman was different, to put it _simply_. They hardly spoke, even from the time they met. Because...from the first time they’d met, it felt like she could _sense_ the part of Sherlock that was desperate for attention. That was desperately wanting to be cared for and treated gently. 

She would let Sherlock lay his head on her chest and sing softly to him until he fell asleep. She’d wipe his mouth after he’d eaten. Wash his hair. All of those things, she did when Sherlock would come to her house. 

But, one day, Sherlock came to her home...and it was empty. Furniture all gone, name peeled off the mailbox. Gone. Not a trace. Sherlock would’ve...and _could’ve_ found out her whereabouts, either on his own or with Mycroft’s help. 

However, he didn’t. Instead, he decided that...it probably would be far better for both of them to just forget all of it and move on. 

But, now...he has John. And, John does things...things that Sherlock thought he would never get from another person. Especially not from another person who loves him. Sherlock and John trust each other so much, and with everything. 

The only problem is...now that John knows, it’s the only thing they both want to do. It’s only been a day, but neither of them can really think about doing anything else. 

Sherlock is dreading having to go back to being ‘big’ and going to crime scenes. Which is _ridiculous_ because he loves to do his detective work. John is dreading going back to the surgery. He’s very fond of that as well, but...the only person he feels like tending to anymore is Sherlock. He feels like he can’t be bothered to look over the patients when his own little boy would be at home without his daddy. 

What have they gotten themselves into? Mycroft was right. They couldn’t let themselves lose touch with reality. Even if the idea of disappearing into this world was so damn appealing. 

“John?” Sherlock calls, removing the cloth from his face. He hears feet moving towards the bathroom. The door opens and John peeks his head in. “Get in here, silly.” Sherlock laughs at John’s silly little mug peeping into the room. 

John laughs as he lets himself in. “Yes, Sherlock?”

“Can you bathe me?” Sherlock’s voice goes little and his eyebrows come together as if he’d scared John will say no.

“Of course, love.” John takes the washcloth from the bath and begins bathing his boy. 

“Have I been good, Daddy?” Sherlock asks shyly. 

“Yes, very good.” John says. “I don’t think you’ve been naughty today. Well, except for this morning.” John reminds him. “Why do you ask?”

“Since I’ve been good, can we cuddle for a while?” Sherlock shifts a bit in the bath to let John wash his back. It feels so good to have someone washing his back. 

“I’d love that, actually.” John smiles, Sherlock can hear it in John’s voice. “Would you like a bottle while we cuddle?”

“No.” Sherlock shakes his head. 

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure, Daddy.” Sherlock responds. 

They’re quiet again as John shifts from cleaning Sherlock’s body, to his hair. Sherlock hums contently as the pads of John’s fingers massage his scalp. 

“Sherlock?” John says in a nearly silent voice. 

“Hm?” Sherlock’s voice is little and distant as he focuses on the feeling of John’s hands working the cleanser into his curls. 

“This has been one of the best days of my life.” 

Sherlock’s eyes open he turns his head to look at John. 

“Really?” Sherlock’s voice is still little.

“Really.” John confirms. 

Sherlock holds onto the side of the tub as he leans over and brings his mouth to John’s. He whispers ‘mwah’ as he sinks back into the water before he can get too cold. John can’t help but grin. 

~*~

When they’re done with the bath, John dries the shivering boy thoroughly, gives him a fresh nappy and outfits him in another little tshirt, this one has a simple diagram of the water cycle on it. John is amused by all of the shirts that Sherlock has. Most of them feature scientific or mathematic things on them. Others have things like animals and balloons or trucks. 

John brings the throw blanket into the living room and he sits on the couch. Like earlier, Sherlock straddles John, chest to chest. Again, hiding his face in John’s neck as his daddy wraps the two of them warmly in the blanket. 

It’s just the two of them. It’s just their breathing. This is how they will always want it. 

“Thank you, John.” 

 


	11. Are You My Sherlock?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> Today's update consists of chapters 11-17 :)  
> I didn't have time to edit them very well, but I'll come in and fix them soon!
> 
> Three updates in one week! I'm having so much fun working on this!  
> Talk with you all soon :)

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes!” John called out into the quiet flat. “Wherever it is that you’re hiding, come out  _now_!”

John was answered by silence. He was standing in the middle of the kitchen and Sherlock was missing. 

They’d had a smooth breakfast. Well, as smooth as it was going to get that morning. 

Sherlock hadn’t wanted to eat anything, so John let him have a simple warm bottle of formula. The formula was soy based, because John knew that Sherlock didn’t handle dairy all too well. Also, the formula had enough calories and nutrients to suffice as a small meal, so John was pleased enough with it. 

However, shortly after breakfast, John reminded Sherlock that they were going to call Lestrade. Sherlock looked panicked, even though John kept telling him that they were just going to see what Lestrade wanted. John said that they might not even have to leave the flat. 

The boy sat by John as he called Greg, though Sherlock stayed quiet and in his little state the entire time. When Greg asked them to come into Bart’s, Sherlock toddled off quickly. All John could do was roll his eyes and sigh, telling Greg that they’d meet him there in an hour or so. 

When John hung up the phone, he began his search for Sherlock. There weren’t many places he could be. Well...alright. There were a  _few_. 

John checked all of the obvious places, then he started checking unusual places. It was as if Sherlock had literally  _vanished_. 

As John stood, trying to think of places he must’ve missed, it hit him that he hadn’t tried going upstairs to his own room. He hadn’t  _heard_  Sherlock go up the stairs, but...it could’ve happened. Apparently, between Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson the previous day, John and Sherlock both had a terrible track record of who comes and goes in their flat. So maybe that’s why John didn’t notice whether the boy went up there or not.

With a bit of urgency, John makes his way up the stairs. He saw that the door was already open, Sherlock was definitely up here. John passed through the area, looking under and behind furniture. In the closet. Nothing. 

But, as John was about to give up and go back down to look around the main part of their flat, John saw toes sticking out from under his bed. He tried not to laugh, covering his mouth to muffle it. 

How the  _hell_ had Sherlock managed to fit himself  _under_  John’s bed? He was over six feet tall, and he wasn’t  _that_  tiny. 

John stooped down and reached out a hand. He used the nail of his index finger to tickle the pad of the exposed foot. The foot’s owner gave a whimper and quickly retracted their foot into the darkness under the bed with the rest of them. 

“D-daddy?” Sherlock asked, in case it wasn’t John and it was the phantom foot tickler instead. 

“Sherlock, is that you?” John pretends not to know it’s Sherlock either. 

“It’s me.” Sherlock informs him, in the sweetest voice and John has to fight back a coo. What a cute little nutter. 

“Who is ‘me’?” John continues to play clueless. 

“I’m Sherlock.” Is the response. 

“What a coincidence! I have a little boy called Sherlock.”

“Daddy, it’s me!” Sherlock shuffles around under the bed. 

“Are you saying that you’re  _my_  Sherlock?”

“Yes!”

“I don’t know,” John sighs dramatically. “My little boy went missing earlier, and I just  _haven’t_  seen him at all.”

“Daddy,” Sherlock peeps his head from under the bed. “It’s me, see?”

“Hm...” John squints and leans forward. “You  _look_  like my little boy.”

“It’s me, I promise!” Sherlock huffs as he wiggles his long form out from under the bed. John can see bits of lint and dust sticking in the boy’s curls. 

“Are you sure you’re my boy?” John asks, Sherlock nods insistently. 

“I am, I am.” He sits in front of John. 

“Hm,” John tries to sound unconvinced. “Let’s see if there’s a way to prove it.”

“I can! I can prove it!” Sherlock’s expression is  _very_  determined. His eyebrows are frowned in focus, his hands clenched into fists. “How do you want me to prove it?”

“Well, let me see if you smell like my little boy.” John leans forward and presses his nose into Sherlock’s neck. Purposefully rubbing his face so he tickles the little boy. Sherlock giggles and tries to squirm away. “Hmm, you smell like him. He’s stinky, too.” John teases him, of course Sherlock doesn’t smell bad. 

“I don’t stink, Daddy!” 

“Hmmmm, maybe you’re right.” John agrees. “We need to find a better way to tell if you’re my boy or not.”

“Yeah.” Sherlock agrees. 

“Oh! I know!” John grins. 

“What? What?” Sherlock is eager to prove himself to his daddy. 

“My little boy, Sherlock...he gives the  _best_ and _sweetest_  hugs and kisses in the entire world.” John grins wider. “If you give me a hug and kiss, I can 100% tell that you’re my boy.”

“I can do that, Daddy!” Sherlock crawls forward and into John’s lap. Soon, the older male finds himself wrapped up in the sweetest hug. Sherlock is hugging him with determination. The hug is tight, but gentle at the same time. John hugs the boy back, Sherlock really does give the best hugs. 

After the embrace, Sherlock pulls back and looks John in the eyes before looking down at John’s lips. The boy brings their mouths together hard, still very much trying to prove that he is John’s Sherlock. 

When Sherlock breaks the kiss, he’s a bit breathless. He had been holding his breath. 

“See?” Sherlock breathes. “It’s me.”

John gives an exaggerated surprised reaction. “Oh my  _goodness_! You must be right!” He cries. “Sherlock, is that  _you_?”

“Daddy!” Sherlock is gleeful when John ‘realizes’ that it’s him. “I told you!”

“You did, oh my gosh!” John hugs his boy tightly. “I should’ve believed you right away!”

“Yeah, you should’ve.” Sherlock lets John hug him. 

“I had to be sure though, you could’ve been an impostor!”

“No, Daddy.” Sherlock frowns. “There’s only one Sherlock Holmes, and that’s me.”

John stops with the exaggerations and looks at Sherlock seriously. “You know, baby...you’re right.” John says. “You’re very right.”

“I know.” Sherlock nods, even little Sherlock is smug and confident. Just like ‘big Sherlock’. 

“There  _is_  only one Sherlock Holmes.” John says. “But, you know what else?”

“What?”

“There’s only  _one_  consulting detective in the whole world.” John taps Sherlock on the nose. “And that’s you, sweetheart.”

Sherlock doesn’t say anything, he just looks at his hands in his lap. 

“Sherlock, people  _need_  you.” John says, hoping to pull ‘big’ Sherlock out. “Please?”

John hopes that his ‘please’ can have the same effect on Sherlock as the detective’s do on him. The younger male is quiet for a few moments before he looks up at John, eyes darkened with displeasure. But, ‘big’ Sherlock is there anyway. 

“Hi, Sherlock.” John runs his fingers through Sherlock’s curls. The detective doesn’t say anything. “Thank you for coming back to me.”

Sherlock moves from John’s lap and stands up. He’s silent as he makes his way out of John’s room. 

The doctor sighs. “This is going to be very,  _very_  hard.”


	12. Leaving the Flat

John felt at a lost. It wasn’t like he  _wanted_  to force Sherlock to do something that he clearly didn’t want to do...but Sherlock has responsibilities. And, letting him neglect those responsibilities wouldn’t be good for him. Or, for the people depending on Sherlock to bring the truth and  answers to the people and the cases. Like Mycroft has said, Sherlock really does help people. He is good at what he does, and what _he_ does...only he can do. 

John decides to just get ready before coming back downstairs to Sherlock. He wanted to give Sherlock a moment to cool down. As John gets dressed, he tries to forget the nearly betrayed look Sherlock had in his eyes moments before. 

The more he thought about it, the less serious Sherlock's problem was. He really didn't want to go do his detective work, but it wouldn't take too long. Besides, it wasn’t like they couldn’t come home right after the case, and do this some more. John decided that Sherlock was just going to have to get over it. The doctor decided that he’d help Sherlock through being ‘big’ for the day, and then do absolutely  _whatever_  it was that would make him happiest for the rest of the day. For the rest of the  _week_  if that’s what it took to bring Sherlock through this case. 

~*~

John came downstairs to find Sherlock’s bedroom door closed. Sherlock never closed it if he was in it, not unless he was sleeping. Even then, he rarely slept...so seeing it closed was strange. 

The older man made his way down the hall and knocked on the door. He heard shuffling coming from the other side. 

“No!” Was the response. Sherlock’s voice was little, and John knew that he’d probably have a hard time getting ‘big’ Sherlock back again. 

“Can I come in?”

“No!” 

“I’m coming in, alright?” John asks gently and turns the handle. The door opens slowly, and John sees Sherlock. He has his back to John. From the doorway, John can see the boy trembling. He was... _shaking_. 

“Oh...sweetheart.” John’s chest hurt just from seeing his boy so...literally, shaken up. “Come to Daddy, baby. Are you alright?”

Sherlock turns to John, lower lip quivering, face tear stained. John frowns when he sees Sherlock’s shirt. He’s wearing one of his usual dress shirts, with button’s down the front. But...the buttons are done all wrong. Sherlock’s trousers, they’re on backwards. 

“Sherlock...” John isn’t sure what to say to comfort his obviously horribly upset boy. He just wants Sherlock to stop shaking. To stop crying. 

“Dada...” Sherlock’s voice is heartbreakingly small, broken.

_Dada?_  John can’t believe how regressed Sherlock is. 

“Dada...buttons, and...and..trousers.” Sherlock‘s face crumples, and his voice cracks as he begins to sob...not cry,  _sob_. John’s insides are all melty and painful. Seeing Sherlock this broken is breaking John as well. “Sherlock messed up.” The boy says, now speaking in third person. 

“Baby...” John coos, bringing the boy into his arms, Sherlock wraps his arms around him tightly. “You didn’t mess up.”

“Sherlock can’t do it.” Is the response. “Sherlock can’t go be big. Sherlock can’t solve crimes.”

“Yes you  _can_.” John leads the baby over to the bed. “Lay down, sweetheart. Let Daddy fix your trousers.”

Sherlock does as he’s told, putting his hands over his face to cover it as he continues to cry hard. The kind of crying that is so hard, no sounds come out and it takes a few beats in between in each sob to breathe. 

“Sherlock, you  _have_  to calm down.” John leaves the trousers alone and sits next to his boy. “For me.”

He doesn’t though, he keeps his face covered and he keeps crying hard. 

“Where’s your dummy, love?” John gets up and goes searching for it. However, John gives up on the search immediately and goes into the boy’s closet, into the bin of baby items. It takes him a bit, but he finds another dummy. He exits the bedroom and crosses into the bathroom, washing it in hot water before returning to Sherlock. “Here, I’ve got you a dummy.”

Sherlock doesn’t do anything, he stays as he is. Face covered and crying. 

“Sherlock you  _have_  to stop.” John says again. “You’re scaring me.” John doesn’t mean to be that honest with Sherlock, but it comes out before he can stop it. 

The boy seems to have been effected by it, though. He takes his hands from his face and looks up at John, trying to catch his breath. He’s hiccuping breaths, but it’s better than before. His face is flushed and feverish. 

“Here.” John taps the new dummy against Sherlock’s mouth. This one is orange with a purple ring. Sherlock lets his lips part and he latches onto the dummy. “I’ll be right back.” 

John gets up and leaves his boy laying on the bed. He goes back into the bathroom and gets a washcloth. He wets it with cold water and wrings it out. 

He brings it back to Sherlock. The boy looks dazed, probably from all of the hard crying. John sits back down next to Sherlock and brings the cool cloth to his feverish skin. The boy flinches at first, but then lets John bring it to different areas of his face and neck. 

“You have to calm down sweetie,” John keeps the cool compress to Sherlock’s skin. “I know it sounds bad, but I bet you’ll have even a  _little_ bit of fun at the morgue.” John wants to chuckle. Anyone else would’ve looked at John like he was a mad man for saying ‘have fun at the morgue’. 

Sherlock is breathing steadily by now, his eyelids look heavy, but not with genuine sleepiness. But, with exhaustion. 

“You’ve worn yourself out, huh?” John pets the boy’s curls, Sherlock doesn’t move. He’s staring off into space. “Want to cuddle?”

Sherlock nods. 

“Come here, sweet pea.” John lays down on the bed and pulls Sherlock to him. Sherlock pushes himself into John’s chest, where he begins to cry again softly. It’s a soft whine, he really does sound like a small baby. “Shhhh, no more of that. There’s nothing to cry about, is there?"

“Dada...” Sherlock whines into John’s chest. “Sherlock doesn’t want to go.”

“But, that’s no reason to cry.” John pushes Sherlock away from him gently, just so that the boy is on his back again. The boy lets himself by laid down flat again. His daddy leans over to Sherlock’s nightstand and takes a few tissues from the box and cleans the baby’s nose. “There’s no way I could get you to smile right now, huh?”

Sherlock shakes his head. 

“Do you want your owl?” John offers. 

Again, he shakes his head. 

“Damn it, Sherlock.” John groans. “I don’t know what to do! I’m clueless, here.”

“Let Sherlock stay home.”

“Wait...stay home?” John looks at Sherlock with a brow risen. Sherlock looks back at John curiously. “You could stay home!”

“Huh?” Sherlock brow furrows. 

“I could skype you from the morgue! And you could stay here!”

“That won’t work.” Sherlock replies, voice bigger but not all the way. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hands. “I need to see very small details of the corpse...or corpses. The camera won’t pick it up.”

“Damn it...thought I was onto something.” John sighs, but...at least ‘big’ Sherlock is making a bit of an appearance. He came out just for the chance to correct John. Maybe...John could keep saying incorrect things and pull out Sherlock’s big side enough to get him out of the flat. “Sherlock...”

“Hm?” The younger male suckles a bit harder on his dummy, trying to self soothe. 

“Have you ever been to a farm?”

“A farm...? What?” Sherlock garbles from behind his dummy.

“I love to watch them use the bulldozer to harvest all the crops.”

“What the...what? A bulldozer?” Sherlock’s brow furrows. “It’s called  _tractor_ , John.”

“No it’s not a tractor, Sherlock. Don’t be silly.” John rolls his eyes internally for his lame topic to argue with Sherlock about. But, it’s the first thing that came to mind. “It’s a bulldozer. I saw it in a documentary once.”

“Well, tell me the name of the documentary so I can call those people. That’s is the most  _incorrect_  thing I’ve ever heard you say.” Sherlock takes his dummy from his mouth, looping a finger through the ring, holding it in his hand. 

“What’s so wrong with it?” John prompts Sherlock to explain how wrong he is. The perfect distraction for John being redressing Sherlock. 

“Well,” Sherlock stares at the ceiling as John crawls off the bed. “For starters, a bulldozer is a machine used only for construction...or  _deconstruction_ , rather.”

“Uh-huh.” John has stopped listening at this point. He’s removing Sherlock’s trousers so that he can turn them to face the right way. But, he let the trousers stay off for a moment. He gently presses a hand to the front of Sherlock’s nappy. It was dry. 

John decided to leave the nappy on. Sherlock’s little state had regressed quite a bit. And, Sherlock says his bladder is the hardest thing to regain control of after he’s been little. John didn’t want to force Sherlock into going out to do detective work  _and_  let him have an accident on top of that. 

Sherlock is still talking as John pulls up the younger’s trousers. He fastens and zips them into place.

Next, John goes to Sherlock’s shirt. He buttons it the right way and tucks it into his trousers. He sits Sherlock up so he can tuck the shirt in at the back as well. 

Then, John pulls Sherlock up from the bed. He takes the boy out of his bedroom and down the hall into the living room. Miraculously, Sherlock is still talking about the tractors. Something about how much fuel they use, compared to a bulldozer? John doesn’t really care. He’s just glad that Sherlock is big right now. 

John goes across the room to get Sherlock’s shoes. He returns and helps Sherlock step into them. With his shoes on, John grabs the man’s coat and scarf. He does fine with the coat, but the scarf is not very Sherlockian looking. It looks more...not as skillfully done. However, Sherlock doesn’t notice, so John pretends not to either. 

Quickly, as to avoid possible tantrums or whatever, John shoves Sherlock out of their flat and out of 221B. Still, Sherlock was talking. Even as they stood at the sidewalk, John struggling to hail a cab. He doesn’t have the natural ease of hailing one like Sherlock. But, eventually one comes along. John pushes Sherlock into it and closes the door. 

The older man heaves a huge sigh of relief once he gives the cabbie the location of their destination. The cab is moving and they’re finally on their way to Bart’s. 

“Bloody fucking hell,” John curses. “I didn’t think we’d make it.”

“Neither did I,” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Nice cover, by the way. The farm thing was an odd choice, but it was distracting enough to work. Good boy, John.”

“You knew...that I was just using that as a ploy?”

“Of course,” Sherlock grins. “My John isn’t idiotic enough to not know the difference between the two machines.”

“Oh...” John smiles a bit proudly. “Well, good.”

“Yes.” Sherlock nods and folds his arms. “Ugh, I still can’t believe that I’m going.”

“Sherlock, you  _like_  this.” John reminds him. “This is your kind of fun.”

“I don’t want  _fun_.” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “I just want  _you_ , John.” Sherlock’s sincerity is moving. 

“I...want you too, Sherlock.” John nods. “Really, I do...but we...have responsibilities and-” He’s cut off by Sherlock leaning over and pressing a warm kiss to his face. “ _Sherlock Holmes_!” 

Sherlock chuckles, folding his arms tighter across his chest. 

“Yes?” 

“We are in a  _cab_!” John whispers loudly...which kind of defeats the purpose but-

“So what?” Sherlock raises a brow. “It wasn’t a romantic gesture.”

“I know...but...if anyone sees us, they might talk.” John glances out the window of the moving vehicle. Hopefully no one saw that, the windows aren’t tinted and it’s very much day time. They could’ve been seen. 

“Oh, absolute humbuggery.” Sherlock frowns. “People talk anyway.” 

“I know, I know...” John blushes. “Just...try to reframe from doing that in public, please.”

“Fine.”

“Also,” John glances towards the front of the cab where the cabbie sat. The doctor is whispering again, quietly this time. “I have your dummy in my pocket, in case of an emergency.”

“Emergency dummy? Nice.” Sherlock nods approvingly. 

“And, if you need anything...or what have you,” John says. “Pull me aside and we can chat.”

“Ok.”

“Another thing,” John glances at Sherlock’s lap. “Your nappy, if it gets too wet, let me know. We can go into the restroom and clean you up, then dispose of it. You’ll have to go bare for the rest of the time we’re there, with hopefully no accidents.”

“Ugh.” Sherlock groans at that. “I didn’t think about my nappy.”

“I checked you before we left the flat, but are you wet now?”

“I don’t know.” Sherlock shrugs. 

“How the hell don’t you know?”

“I just...don’t know.”

“Wiggle around then.” John suggest. “If you squish, you’re fucked. If not, you’re fine.” 

Sherlock laughs at John’s words. He liked that John had a bit more of a foul mouth than he did, it made for fun conversation. 

The detective does as he is told. The wiggling movement made the nappy crinkle, but he didn’t feel any squish. 

“I think I’m fine.” Sherlock responds. 

“Good,” John nods. “Good.” He repeats. 

“Good.” Sherlock says it as well, looking out the window as they continued their ride. “I still can’t believe you got me out here.” 


	13. Amongst the Halls

“Well, there’s some strange bruising on the abdomen. I can’t quite figure what the cause was.” Molly unzips the body bag. “The pattern of it is so strange-”

“No sign of blood disease?” Sherlock holds his small magnifying to the corpse. This is the second body he’s observed every detail of. He’s been going at this for a few hours now. 

Observing the body, making a report with Molly. It’s tedious, but the crime scene was already cleared away. It was a public place and they couldn’t keep it blocked off to pedestrians for long. That’s why Lestrade was trying so hard to get ahold of Sherlock. He didn’t bother calling John because it was too late. 

Sherlock had several images to observe of the scene. He sort of wishes that he hadn’t ignored the calls. On his ‘Sherlockian Scale of Interesting Cases’, this one was probably an 8.5 and that’s quite the high marks. 

There was a problem though...Sherlock kept losing focus. He’d feel his brain go fuzzy, and he’d find himself wanting to be curled up on the couch with John and a warm bottle of milk. It was raining out, the perfect weather to cuddle John. 

Sherlock glanced over at the doctor. He was doing an observation on the first body still. Even though Sherlock and Molly had thoroughly gone over the corpse, the detective always asks John to give the body a look as well. There’s always something that Sherlock has missed, and he feels very prideful when his John finds something he’d left out. 

No matter how important, or how small the detail is. If John finds it, Sherlock beams at him for the rest of the day. 

But, right now...Sherlock felt anything but pride. He wanted to go home. He felt like he was in a sealed room and the walls were closing in. He felt like he was drowning, he felt like he was falling without a parachute. He felt...he felt...

“Daddy.” Sherlock says in a little voice, under his breath. But, in the dead silence of the morgue, it seems quite loud. John freezes and looks over his shoulder at the detective. 

“I’m sorry, what?” Molly’s brow furrows. “Did you say...‘daddy’?”

“Um, yes.” John approaches the two of them. “He did.”

“What...why?” Molly’s still frowning in confusion. 

“His mobile has been going off all day, his father wants to see him for tea. But, Sherlock is here working and he simply can’t make it. Do excuse us.” John takes Sherlock’s sleeve.

He pulls Sherlock out of the door, stopping at the hand sanitizer dispenser and coating both of their hands in the cleanser before dragging Sherlock out of the morgue. 

John pulls Sherlock down an empty hall, where no one will hear them. 

“Are you alright?” John looks at the man in front of him. Sherlock is in limbo between big and little. But, this time, he seems so much more troubled about it. 

Sherlock’s head is bowed and he’s holding his hands out in front of him. His hands are moving like he’s carding through items. He must be in his mind palace. In which case, there was no point in trying to talk to him. John just stood in front of him with his arms folded, lips pursed.   

The detective lets out a solid growl. 

“Where is it? Where  _is_  it??” Sherlock’s hands move fast. “Where the hell is it?!” Sherlock’s eyes fly open and they lock on John like a target. “How did you  _do_  it?”

“What?” John’s brow furrows in fear as Sherlock presses his back against the wall. “Do what??”

“The saying is ‘time flies when you’re having fun’ or whatever the buggering fuck it is.” Sherlock curses again. “But  _you_ , John! Like you said yesterday, you...you said you were having the best day of your life, yes?”

“Yes.” John nods, wincing a bit from the pain. Sherlock’s putting a lot of pressure on his bad shoulder. He knows that Sherlock isn’t meaning to do it.

“And, I was having the most fun I’d had my entire life!” Sherlock exclaims. “Yet, you  _stopped_ time.”

“I...didn’t  _really_  stop time.” John chuckles a bit, trying to find even the tinniest bit of humor in the situation, like he always does. “I don’t have super powers or anything.”

“Well, bleeding hell, John! I  _know_  that!” Sherlock doesn’t get that John is just playfully teasing and starts yelling again. “For  _fuck’s_  sake! Of course you didn’t really stop time!”

“Calm down, would you?”

“I can’t! How do you expect me to calm down when I can’t think?”

“Why do you want to stop time?”

“Because, my thoughts are moving too quickly! It feels like a I can’t even  _breathe_ , John. But  _you_ , when you made time stop...I could think so clearly.” Sherlock squeezes John’s shoulders. “Stop time, John.”

“I...what the bloody hell do you want me to do?”

“Stop. Time. John.”

“Sherlock...”

“John, kiss me.” Sherlock demands, amazing eyes bleeding into John’s. The doctor’s jaw falls open.

“What? Here?” John glances around nervously. “Why? Are you ok?”

Sherlock shakes his head. “No, I’m obviously not ok. I...I keep slipping.”

“Into your little space?”

“Yes, and I can’t bloody focus!” Sherlock hisses, loud voice booming and echoing across the walls. “John, kiss me  _now_. I need it. I need  _you_. It’ll make my thoughts stop  _racing around my head_!” He lets go of John’s shoulders and ruffles his hands frustratedly through his curls. John’s seen him do this several times before when he’s extremely frustrated. “My  _god_  I can’t think!”

John frowns. “Sherlock...calm down, it’s ok-”

“It’s NOT OK!” Sherlock spits. “John, you know how to stop time! You did it last night!” Sherlock points an accusing finger in John’s face. “You stopped time before I even needed you too, but now that I do...you’re letting me suffer? Why?”

“Oh, Sherlock...I don’t want you to suffer. It’s just-”

“Then stop hesitating and kiss me, please.”

“I just don’t think this is the place...or time, or-” John’s cut off by Sherlock kissing him hard. The detective couldn’t wait anymore, his unstable mind was  _killing_  him.

Sherlock’s lips are hungry, like he’s trying to feed on John. Like he’s trying to find the secret ingredient of John Watson. The thing about him that gives him the power to stop time completely. 

“John,” Sherlock speaks against John’s lips. “I need you, I need the way you make everything stop moving. My thoughts...they’re still racing. It’s like I’m running on a treadmill at the highest speed.” He explains. “I’m...I’m trying to stay on it, trying to catch up. But...no matter how fast I run, I’m slipping. I keep slipping and, John...it makes me so scared. It makes me so scared, John.”

“Sherlock...you’ve just kissed me and your thoughts are still spinning out of control. Maybe it’s not what you need.”

“But, it  _has_ to be. When you kiss me...John, I feel so connected to you. I feel so grounded. You’re my anchor, John.” Sherlock states. “You always have been.”

“I...but-”

“There’s just something we’re not doing right, with the kiss I mean. You’re still holding back.” Sherlock turns his head left and right, making his mouth brush against John’s without applying pressure. “Why are you holding back, John? Make me feel safe.Oh god, John.” Sherlock presses his lips to John’s with purpose this time. The detective’s lips are firm against the doctor’s. 

John doesn’t know what more to do for Sherlock. He’s kissing back, maybe not as  _hard_  as Sherlock’s kiss. But, it’s what he normally does. 

He can feel the pressure of Sherlock’s hands returning to his shoulders. The burn of pain shooting up his bad side. But, it hurts in a good way. It hurts like Sherlock is burrowing his way into John’s skin, and they're becoming very safe now. 

But...why isn’t this enough to calm Sherlock’s brain?

“Please.” Sherlock murmurs against John’s mouth. He has said ‘please’ now, and that always breaks any hesitant spell that John is in. It always forces John to give Sherlock what he wants. 

Without even realizing that he’s doing it, John’s tongue is dragging across Sherlock’s lips. The detective takes a sharp inhale of breath through his nose and he freezes. It makes John think that he’s just made a mistake and his tongue begins to retreat. However, Sherlock’s tongue chases his, making contact. 

John is surprised when the detective gives a subtle moan as their tongues meet. The doctor lets his body do what it wants. His hands reach up into Sherlock’s curls, and Sherlock’s hands move off of John’s shoulders. The detective’s hands go to John’s waist instead and he presses his body to John’s. 

Still, John is very confused. This all feels good, but he can’t understand why even this form of intimacy doesn’t feel... _sexual_. It should, and with anyone else, it would. But...this feels much more like he sating an emotional thirst, rather than...well, making out with Sherlock Holmes in a dim hallway. 

Sherlock’s brain feels like it’s melting with overload. But, amongst the melting bits, are the parts that he needs. Like the important things were in a wax candle and there’s a fire burning now, releasing the information from the melted wax. 

He knows that he’s in his mind palace now, and he’s never been there with another person literally  _attached_  to him. Usually, Sherlock can’t have another person even  _near_  him when he’s in his mind palace. It’s funny, even deep inside the mental space, he can hear John breathing. It’s louder than any noise in the nearly silent palace. Almost as if the palace itself is breathing. 

And that... _that_  is what he needed. John’s breathing. The subtle sound was constant nearly the whole time he was in his little space. The breathing, slow and rhythmic...it stopped time.  _John_ , everything about him stopped time. 

Sherlock opened his eyes. He was calm, the frenzy in his brain stopped. John was still kissing him, Sherlock could feel the brush of John’s tongue against his own. At this, Sherlock closed his eyes and kissed John back again. He wanted to gather the sensation, to remember exactly how it feels.  _This_  he would store in his mind palace, along with the other small things he liked about John. 

He wanted to store every bit of information about the different ways John kisses him. Even now, when John kisses him hungrily, it’s gentle. No matter how intensely John feels about the kiss, he will  _always_  treat Sherlock like he’s fragile...and, maybe Sherlock really wanted that. 

“Oh, for -- really?” The two once again entangled men were stopped mid-kiss. They look up to see Lestrade standing at the end of the hallway. 

“One of these days, we will truly acquire a guard dog.” John tells Sherlock. 

“Yes, a wise investment.” Sherlock agrees, wiping his thumb over his bottom lip. “Hello, Gavin.”

“Greg.” Lestrade sighs. “Look, is this why you two didn’t come in yesterday? Having a bloody honeymoon?”

“No.” John rolls his eyes. 

“Something similar.” Sherlock smirked at both John’s and Lestrade’s reactions. 

“Sherlock!” John exclaims. “No, we weren't _honeymooning_. Sherlock just wasn’t feeling well and needed to be tended to.”

“Sure,” Lestrade nods. “Now, can we  _please_  just get back to this case so I can unsee what I’ve just seen?”

“Gladly.” Sherlock watches Lestrade quickly move down the hall without them. The detective turns back to John. “Are you alright?”

“I...I don’t know.” John is honest. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I just feel like...maybe I’m not supposed to kiss you like that.”

“I needed you to.” Sherlock says. “You slowed me down, you kept me sane. John, you always keep me right.”

“But...”

“Did you become aroused?”

“No.”

“Then why do you feel guilty?”

“I feel like I used you.”

“But, for what?” Sherlock’s brow furrowed. “If you didn’t gain sexual pleasure, then how else could you have used me?”

“I don’t know.”

“John, in your mind...kissing is usually what leads to you getting off with some person you’ve most likely picked up at the bar.” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “But, you know better with me. You know that this is our connection, our physical bond that grounds us both. It’s not sexual. You’re not using me. Not for sexual pleasure.”

“Why do I feel so guilty then?”

“I’ve just told you why.”

“I know...but I still don’t feel better.” John shakes his head. “I need my little boy. I need to know that he’s ok.”

“Are you worried that you’ve hurt him?”

“Kind of, yes. I don’t want him to think his daddy is...being wrong with him.”

“John, you wouldn’t kiss me like that if I was little.” Sherlock shakes his head, curls tossing when he does. “You’re not doing anything wrong. You’re not hurting little me, or big me either.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Our kisses when I’m little are very important to me, and I feel so loved. And like I said, you wouldn’t kiss me like that when I’m little. Stop feeling so bad, you git.” Sherlock reaches up to touch John’s face. “I. Trust.  _You_. John Hamish Watson.”

John feels foolish but he can feel his eyes prickling with tears. No one has everything 100% trusted him like this. 

“Oh, you sap.” Sherlock chuckles and leans forward to bring his lips to John’s cheek, then to each of the man’s eyelids. “Gonna have a cry, now?”

“Shut up, you.” John wipes his wet eyes. “I’m just really happy.”

“As am I.”

“How’s your, uh...nappy?”

“Dry.”

“Are you sure?”

Sherlock nods. “Don’t ask further. It makes me feel little...and I don’t want to slip. I appreciate the concern though. I’ll alert you should my nappy status change.”

“Hahaha, ‘nappy status’.” John laughs, Sherlock does as well. 

“Would you two come on??” Lestrade and Molly are standing at the end of the hall. Greg’s hands are on his hips, Molly is peeking from behind him.


	14. Small Stall

Halfway through relaying the information about the corpses to Greg, they get a sudden call from the department. There’s been another murder and there are several things that might be clues there. The officers on sight think the murders might be related. 

This sort of news normally would’ve excited Sherlock, but he just looked  _tired_  at the words ‘another murder’. John began to worry a bit. Sherlock was doing so well. He didn’t want the younger man to get burned out. 

Greg called over his shoulder that he’d see them at the next location. John turned to Sherlock. 

“If...you don’t want to go...maybe-” John is cut off by Sherlock shaking his head.

“No, I have to.” Sherlock takes a deep breath. “But, Daddy -- er, uh... _John_.”

“Yes?”

“I...need the loo.” Sherlock looks down at his feet.

“Oh...” John’s brow furrowed. “You don’t want to use the nappy?”

“I don’t want to wet it.” Sherlock says. “I don’t know how much longer I’ll have to be out and I really don’t want to be without it and have an accident.”

“I’ll take you to the loo then,” John takes Sherlock by the arm gently and leads him down the corridor. “Then onto the crime scene?”

“Afraid so.” Sherlock sighs. 

“Oh come on,” John squeezes Sherlock’s arm. “You haven’t enjoyed yourself even a bit?”

“Well...a  _bit_ , maybe.”

“Not more?”

“Don’t you understand that I just want to be alone with you?” Sherlock’s words sit heavy on John’s chest. The honesty and the clarity of them squeeze John tightly. The doctor remains quiet as they enter the echoey restroom. 

“Do you need help?” John asks once they’re sure that they are alone. 

“Uh, no.” Sherlock hangs up his coat on the hook then disappears into a stall. “Shit.”

“Are you alright?”

“Well...yes,” Sherlock sounds hesitant, but John can hear him going, so his concern is lesser. 

“Why’d you say...what you said, then?”

“I just untaped my nappy and I have no clue why,” Sherlock chuckles. “I don’t think it was necessary.”

“Oh,” John laughs as well. “You need me to come help you get it back into place?”

“When I’m done, yeah.” Sherlock and John chuckle together, voices echoing off the walls. 

When Sherlock gives John the green light, he unlocks the stall door and John enters. They’re in extremely close quarters now, and it’s so laughter inducing to be struggling a nappy onto your best friend in a public restroom stall. 

Between laughter, John talks. “If people came in and saw our feet from under the door and heard us grunting and laughing like this, they’d-”

“Definitely talk.” Sherlock finishes the sentence. 

“ _Definitely_  talk.” John agrees. 

It takes a bit of correcting to get the nappy into the proper position, that would keep it from leaking in the future. But, once it’s in place, John helps Sherlock fasten his trousers. 

Things have felt different between Sherlock and John since their moment earlier in the hall. They had kissed while Sherlock was still big, and it wasn’t a simple kiss. It was deep, and hungry...yet, it had felt right. It had felt like they’d given each other parts of themselves. As if there was even anything left to give, they’d already given each other so much. 

It wasn’t the first time they’d kissed when Sherlock was big, they’d done it before the day John gave him the bottle of juice from Mrs. Hudson’s flat. When they were on the couch, Sherlock had told John that he trusted him, and they kissed. However, the kiss in the hallway was different. 

“Thanks for your help, John.” Sherlock blushed, neither of them made the move to leave the stall. 

John responds to Sherlock’s thanks with a peck to the lips. Sherlock looked surprised at first, still surprised when John kisses him when he’s big. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow and gave a breathy laugh. Then, he leaned over and pecked John’s mouth in return. 

“I can think of many places far more sanitary to kiss you, other than a restroom stall. Believe it or not.” Sherlock comments opening the door and slipping out of their confined space. 

“Do you suppose our flat is cleaner than this?”

“What the hell kind of question is that?” Sherlock asks as he and John move to wash their hands. 

“With all the experiments you run.”

“Hey,” Sherlock says. “You and Mrs. Hudson do a fine job keeping the flat absolutely spotless.”

John laughs at this. “At least you admit that you take no part in the cleaning.” 

“Of course not, John.” Sherlock grins up at him in the mirror. “I don’t have to with you two about.”

“What if Mrs. Hudson and I stop cleaning?”

“Well,” Sherlock looks over his shoulder at the stall they were just in. “There’s enough room for my microscope and my laptop in there. I could very well move in.”

John and Sherlock laugh, leaned against each other at the sink. Mycroft was right, they certainly were just made for each other. 


	15. Alone

Sherlock had thoroughly enjoyed himself at the crime scene. He trotted about from either end of the closed off area, talking nonstop and pestering everyone for not keeping up with his undeniable intellect. John only watched, pleased to see Sherlock getting back into the swing of things. 

He did see little Sherlock a few times while they were at the crime scene. Mid-trot, Sherlock stopped moving and looked down. His face flushed momentarily during his pause and when the pause ended he looked up at John. The look had meant that he’d wet his nappy and John felt bad that he couldn’t change his boy right then. The pause was unnoticeable to anyone else, thankfully. 

However, right after that, Sherlock was back to normal big Sherlock and he continued his rounds about the scene, Greg following after him to take down the details of all the things spewing out of Sherlock’s mouth. 

It wasn’t until they were in the cab going home, that Sherlock seemed... _off_  again. He was quiet and distant. If John said anything to him at all, he’d just give a hum of acknowledgement and go back to being silent. 

John so desperately wanted their normal back. It was a sense of normal only constructed in a day’s worth of time. But, it was the normal that John had wanted to keep. 

He wanted his little boy back. John wanted all of the smiles, the cuddles and kisses. It wasn’t that anything was wrong with big Sherlock. But, it was when he was like this, distant or upset, that John felt helpless and far smaller, physically, than even Sherlock believed himself to be. 

Sherlock waited for John while he paid for the cab, which, Sherlock doesn’t always do. When John finished paying Sherlock waited for John to head up the stairs first. Again, a rare occurrence. 

Up in their flat, Sherlock stood in the middle of the living room, staring off into space. John removed his own coat, brow furrowed at Sherlock. He wanted to know rather he was little or big, so that he’d know how to comfort him best. 

But, either way, both sides of Sherlock liked kisses. So, maybe it was worth a try?

Sherlock was standing like a statue and he was too tall to kiss without him bending down a bit. John felt silly, but he got up onto his toes and pulled Sherlock down a bit to bring their lips together. Sherlock let John’s lips press to his, but he didn’t return it, or even acknowledge it. 

“Sherlock...” John sighed and stepped away from him. “What’s wrong?”

“Can you change my nappy, Daddy?” Sherlock’s little voice had sound, but vacant sound. Like white noise. 

“Sure,” John reached up and took Sherlock’s scarf off. “Let’s get you out of your coat first, yeah?”

Absentmindedly, Sherlock nodded. He let John slip the long coat from his body. As soon as he was out of it, Sherlock walked briskly down the hall into his bedroom. John watched his flatmate take long strides and disappear into the room. 

When John gets to the room, Sherlock is already lying on his back with his dummy in his mouth. So, John just gets right to it. He tries to hum a song like last time, but Sherlock doesn’t even crack a tiny smile. 

And, when John tries to put on Sherlock’s new nappy, the boy doesn’t assist John in getting it on. John pats Sherlock’s warm thigh. 

“Come on, love.” John smiles down at him. “Lift up your bum.”

“I...” Sherlock’s voice is small, but it fades deeper as he holds the note. “I want pants, John.”

“What?” John isn’t sure he’s heard him correctly. “You want pants?”

“Yes, please.” Sherlock sits up. 

“You want... _pants_?” John asks again. 

“Yes, John! Pants!” Sherlock shouts hands going through his curls, John can tell that he’s extremely frustrated with having to repeat himself. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” John goes through Sherlock’s drawers trying to find pants. 

“Top right.” Sherlock points. 

“Ok,” John opens the top right drawer and pulls out the first pair that he could find. “These good?”

“Yes.” Sherlock holds out his hand, and John stops short. For some reason, he’d thought Sherlock was going to let him put them on for him. 

_He’s not my little boy anymore_. John thinks as he hands them over.

“Thank you.” Sherlock stands up and steps into the pants, pulling them up. 

“Sherlock...” John says as the man crosses the hall into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. 

“What?” Sherlock says from inside. 

“Are you...done being little?”

“For a while, yes.”

“How long is a while?”

“Don’t know.” Sherlock says after giving a small grunt. 

“Are you going...?” John’s sentence trails off.

“Um...yes, John.”

“Is that why you’re done being little? Because you didn’t want to do that in your nappy?”

“No,” Sherlock sounds like he’s being honest. “I didn’t realize that I needed to until you were changing me..but I had decided that I didn’t want to be little anymore before now. I decided in the cab.”

“But, why don’t you want to be little?”

“I just...” Sherlock sighs. “When I’m ready to tell you, I will. For now though, can I be alone?”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“Sure.” John says and makes his way into the living room. “ _Alone_?” John raises a brow. “Why alone? Why now?”

He sits on the sofa and holds his temple. “Was today too much for him? Did I do something wrong?” He takes a deep breath. “What about me? What if I don’t want to be alone? Is that selfish of me?”

John feels lost. He closes his eyes and continues to take deep breaths. Maybe this is what Sherlock was feeling earlier. The racing thoughts, not being able to slow them down no matter how hard he tried. But, the difference here...was that John was there to help Sherlock calm down. And...Sherlock wouldn’t be coming to John’s rescue. Not now. 

After a few minutes, Sherlock came out of the bathroom. When he came into the living room, he stopped to look at John. The older man didn’t look up at him. 

“John.” Sherlock says. “Can you send a text for me?”

“What?”

“I need you to send a message.”

“No, Sherlock. You want to be big? Then you have to do it yourself.”

“You’ve sent texts for me before.”

“Yes well,” John stands up. “I’m not doing it now. Besides, you want to be so bloody alone? I’ll just go upstairs. Goodnight.”

“John-” Sherlock flinches when the door closes loudly. He almost feels his little side burst through, watching his daddy leave him alone, angrily. He could feel his lower lip poking out, but he took a deep breath and moved to sit in his chair, trying not to stare at John’s. 


	16. Laying Awake

John lays on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He’s felt loss before. He’s felt the ‘kick to the gut’ feeling of having to say goodbye to someone he’s really cared about for a while, or even forever. But...losing Little Sherlock somehow felt emptier than that. 

He didn’t know if things were going to go back to the way they used to be, which...wasn’t horrible. But, the distance between himself and Sherlock would hurt. It would hurt every time that he couldn’t touch Sherlock’s angular face. Or  _damn_ , those perfect curls. Hold Sherlock close, feeling his weight, his warmth. 

John feels like he’s taken the whole situation for granted. The memories aren’t as good as the real thing, but they’re enough. He thinks about the way Sherlock giggled when he was little. So effortlessly gleeful. The way John could  _feel_  the trust emanating off of his little boy. 

Would the absence of little Sherlock mean that John would have to go back to worrying about whether or not Sherlock had eaten enough? Stayed hydrated? Slept enough? Whether he was holding in so much emotion that he was going to burst?

“Damn it, Sherlock.” John fisted his duvet. “Big or little, just...just let me take care of you.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force himself to fall asleep. Maybe everything would be better in the morning. Everything was always better in the morning, right? That’s what people always tell you. They say ‘sleep on it’ or something about the sun always coming out. 

The sound of Sherlock’s violin made its way up to John’s room, and John listened closely. The song that Sherlock was playing was deep and fluid as the man’s voice. Surely, John could fall asleep to the tune. Sometimes, when John would be struggling to fall asleep, it seemed as if Sherlock knew it. He’d play several pieces in a row and John would find himself falling asleep quickly. 

But, not this time. John stayed awake. He listened to every note, wishing he hadn’t stormed upstairs. So that he could watch Sherlock play in person. It was always so fascinating to watch. 

The way Sherlock expertly went about playing. Of course he was good at playing the violin. It was a simple matter of learning how to hold the instrument and which notes to play. And, Sherlock could learn literally anything he wanted to. 

However, when John had told Sherlock that playing an instrument was just about learning the notes, Sherlock looked disgusted. “In order to play an instrument, one must only learn the notes, yes. But, John...in order to make music...you have to feel it. If you don’t feel it, you aren’t doing it right.” Was Sherlock’s response. 

When Sherlock had said it, John was surprised. It’d been maybe a month that they’d been living together, and Sherlock had never mentioned feeling anything, other than boredom before. So, John hadn’t seen it coming when Sherlock talked about music, how it made him feel. Sherlock told John about how he’d cried at a symphony. How he’d never felt so moved in all of his life. 

John wishes that he could take Sherlock to see a symphony. So he could see the way Sherlock reacts every note. Which ones make him close him eyes and just feel. 

He groans,  _stupid Sherlock_. He thinks, he’s mad at himself for letting this upset him. Sherlock hadn’t done anything wrong. They’d been literally attached by the hip for two days. It’d only been two days, but they’d gotten so lost in each other, it’d felt like a life time. 

John is upset because Sherlock had shown John a life, a life so beautiful all else seems dull. And, as soon as Sherlock had shown it to him, he’d taken it away. 

He doesn’t just miss the ‘little’ Sherlock things. But, when Sherlock was big, he and John were closer too. Sherlock liked to be close to John, he liked to kiss John. They...

The violin stopped downstairs, and once again, things were far to quiet. John looked at his clock. He’d been laying awake for an hour and a half.  He continues to toss and turn for another hour or so, before looking at the clock again. 

“I don’t know, Sherlock.” John says to himself. “You say I stopped time before, but I’ve never seen time go this slowly in my life.”

~*~

Another hour passes and John can’t take it. He’d never admit the few tears that’d ran down his cheeks. He felt so empty.

The feeling went away when he heard his bedroom door open. John doesn’t look at the door when it opens, and Sherlock stands in the doorway for a while. The air is thick with unlabeled silence.

Sherlock closes the door before walking slowly over to the bed, it creaks under his weight when he gets onto it. John is surprised when he feels Sherlock straddle his hips over John’s. 

“John,” Sherlock whispers as he leans down and presses his lips onto the tender spot of John’s neck. “John, I can’t do this.”

John wants to say ‘do what’, but he stays quiet. He doesn’t think he could’ve said anything if he wanted to. His throat was tight with...shock, or something. 

“I can’t do it, I can’t be without you.” Sherlock speaks against John’s skin and presses another kiss to it. “I was wrong. I want to be your little boy again. Now. Please, let me. Make me feel safe, John.”

“Sherlock,” John turns his head to look him in the eyes. "Of course I’ll let you. I’ve missed my little boy so much, and it’s only been a few hours. I didn’t just miss your little side, I’ve missed all of you. I was so worried that we weren’t going to be close anymore.”

“I’m sorry.” Sherlock lowers his lips down onto John’s, kissing him gently.

“Don’t be, shhhh...” John can hear the sadness, the guilt on Sherlock’s lips and John tries eagerly to kiss all of the bad feelings away. He sucks gently on Sherlock’s bottom lip, only for a second before releasing it. He feels Sherlock flash a smile. “I already forgive you.”

“If I didn’t come up here, would you have come down to me?”

“No,” John is honest. “I thought that it would’ve upset you if I did.”

“Never,” Sherlock shakes his head. “Never give me space, even if I ask.”

“But-”

“Promise me.”

“Sherlock...”

“John, promise me.” Sherlock’s goes small voice. “Daddy, please don’t leave me, even if I ask.”

“Promise, I promise.” John kisses Sherlock’s cheek. “Remember? I told you the other day that Daddy will always be here.”

Sherlock looks up into John’s eyes, the sadness gives way to another small smile. 

“We have certainly gotten ourselves into a mess here, haven’t we, Sherlock?”

“What do you mean, Daddy?”

“I can’t be without you anymore, and you can’t be without me.”

“Yes.” Sherlock nods. “But, why is it a mess, Daddy?”

“Because, it’s only been two days and we have an entire  _forever_  to go. Do you suppose you could stand me for that long?”

“No.” Little Sherlock giggles, which let’s John know that he’s kidding.

“Hey,” John reaches a hand up to Sherlock’s curls.

“Yes?”

“Why...why did you want to be alone and stop being little?”

“I...got scared.” Sherlock admits. 

“Of what, though?”

“I realized how draining being big was today, and...I thought it’d be best to force myself into being big. I asked to be alone, because with you around, I just wanted to curl up in your arms and be your boy.”

“Sherlock, this is something that we can work on together.” John says. “We can find a balance, and we can make us work.”

“Us?” Sherlock bites his bottom lip. John isn’t sure what to say and he’s a bit embarrassed to have said ‘us’, especially since he doesn’t know what it means. So, he changes the subject. 

“Oh,” John says. “We need to get you a nappy.” John pats Sherlock’s un-nappied bum through his pajama bottoms. “Before you make a mess out of us both.”

“Will you come sleep in my bed then?”

“Yes, baby.”

“Yay!” Sherlock chirps, gleeful that he won’t have to go without his Daddy for the night. 


	17. Mine & Yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted Chapters 11-17 today.  
> I didn't have time to edit them very well, but I'll come in and fix them soon!
> 
> Three updates in one week! I'm having so much fun working on this!  
> Talk with you all soon :)
> 
> UPDATE: I made a mistake and said '12' through 17, I hope you all got to chapter 11.  
> My apologies! <3

Sherlock is on his back, laying on the bed as John tapes the nappy securely to his waist. Then, John puts Sherlock’s pajama bottoms back on. They’re fleece, with pale blue and grey stripes. 

“There you go, lad.” John smiles fondly at the little boy. 

“Thank you, Daddy.” Sherlock says, watching John walk over to the nightstand, where he’s left one of the baby’s dummies. The boy parts his lips in anticipation for it. When John returns to Sherlock with the dummy, the little boy makes an insistent noise, ready to receive the dummy. 

John just smiles down at him, not yet giving him the dummy. Sherlock closes his mouth and lets his brow furrow, watching John as he sat down on the bed next to him. 

“I love you.” John says before he leans down to bring his lips to Sherlock’s. The older man feels Sherlock’s soft lips respond to the kiss with one of his own. They both softly say ‘mwah’ as they part.

As John moves to sit upright, Sherlock quickly reaches up a hand and brings it to the back of John’s head to pull him down once more. 

“Again,” Sherlock’s little voice whispers and he gives his daddy more gentle kisses. The first touch of the lips, Sherlock pulls back quickly after. “Because, Daddy was patient with me...when I got scared and hid this morning.” Sherlock says, then pulls John back down for the next kiss. “Because...Daddy helped fix my buttons, and my trousers when I did it wrong.” John let’s Sherlock bring him in for another rewarding kiss. Sherlock can feel John’s smile against his mouth. “Because, Daddy helped me focus when I couldn’t hardly think at all, at Bart's.” Sherlock pulls John down again for the last time, but he lets go of the back of John’s head. Instead, he holds John’s face in his slightly cold hands. When they separate after a lingering touch of the lips, Sherlock keeps his eyes closed, forehead against John’s. “Lastly, ‘cause...I love Daddy too.”

John feels overwhelmed with love for his little boy. He can feel himself tearing up. Sherlock finally releases John’s face and looks at him. Eyes widening when he sees his daddy’s teary eyes. “I did bad?” Sherlock sounds frightened. “I made Daddy sad? I just did what you did! When we got back from grocery shopping!” Little Sherlock tries to justify his actions. “A-and, when you’d called me brave and-” He’s cut off by a kiss, it’s brief...but followed by several more to his cheeks, forehead, chin, neck all the way down to his tummy were John blows raspberries to make the boy giggle. “Daddy! No! St-stop!” Sherlock cries between giggles. 

“You silly sausage.” John picks his head up from Sherlock’s tummy. “I’m not crying because I’m sad.”

“Then...then why?”

“I’m happy, Sherlock.” John wipes his eyes. “I’m so happy.”

“Because...me?” Sherlock points to himself. 

“Yes you, silly.” John rolls his eyes. “I feel...so...”

“Happy?”

“Yes, but  _more_  than happy.”

“Super happy?” 

“Even more than  _super happy_.”

“Whoa.” Sherlock’s eyes widen and John can’t help but laugh at the boy’s expression. 

“I never thought...” John shakes his head. “That...I would...that  _we_  would-”

“Be this close?” The baritone voice finishes. John looks up to see the littleness gone from his features. But...there’s still something youthful and playful in his eyes. “Neither did I, John.”

“Do you think it would’ve happened, even if we hadn’t started having ‘little time’?” John wraps his arms around Sherlock and rests his head on his chest, which...feels awfully funny to do, because Sherlock is usually curled up around him. 

“Everyone else around us could see our undeniable bond, I suppose it would’ve hit us later on in our prime.”

“In our  _prime_?” John’s eyes open at this. “Bloody hell, Sherlock. I’m already...old.”

“You’re not old.”

“You called me old when you were little the other day.” Jon points out. This cracks Sherlock up and he gives deep, booming laughter for, what John feels, is too long.

“Did I?” Sherlock is still laughing. “That’s  _brilliant_.”

“Says you, Sherlock.” John pouts into the man’s chest. “I was a bit offended.”

“Were you really?” Sherlock reaches a hand up to pet John’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. You weren’t... _all the way_  little yet, though.” John explains. “We’d just gotten back from a murder case, the cheating wife who got murdered by her husband.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And, you were so tired.” John recalls. “I told you that there was no way that you couldn’t be tired after going without sleep that long, because I was tired and I slept regularly.”

“Yeah?”

“And that’s when you said I was just tired, because I was old.”

This makes Sherlock laugh again, but not as fully as before.

“What a delightful prick, ‘little me’ is.”

“Do you...remember things?” John asks softly. “From when you’re little?”

“I delete a lot of it.” Sherlock says. “But, the main things I keep are the ways you make me feel. The safe feelings, I hold on to those. The happy ones. The ones where I feel loved.”

“Oh, alright.”

“And...the stuff about you.” Sherlock blushes, glad John’s tucked away in his chest where he can’t see it. “I like to keep the things about the way you look at me. Or, the way you hold me and kiss me. Especially t-the kisses...I  _adore_  when you kiss me. It’s the best feeling in the world.”

“I love kissing you.” John says, it feels funny to admit it. “When you’re little, or when you’re big. However, I like them both for different reasons.”

“I know.” Sherlock nestles his chin into John’s blonde hair. It’s warm there at the top of his head. “Sometimes, I wish that you were the little one.”

“Me?” John laughs. “I’d be...it would be...”

“I’d love to take care of you.”

“I couldn’t do it, I’d be too embarrassed.”

“Want to at least try my dummy?”

“Uh...” John watches as Sherlock holds the item up. He feels intrigued, but it’s not enough interest to make him actually try it. “No thank you,” John takes the dummy from Sherlock, only to press it between the younger’s lips. “All yours. You’re my baby, no take backs.”

“I’m your baby, John?” Sherlock holds him tighter, only asking the question to hear him answer again. 

“Yes, all mine.”

“I love being yours, but...you know you’re mine too, right?” Sherlock’s heart beats fast when he says it, John can feel the muscle throbbing against his cheek. John nods. 

“Of course I’m yours, you little bugger.”

“John,” Sherlock says softly. “There’s...something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

“There is?” John’s pulse quickens with nervousness, also with extreme curiousness as to what it could be.

“Yes, there is.” Sherlock takes a deep breath. “The question has been...milling about in my mind for the longest time. But, I’ve been afraid to ask because...well, frankly I thought you might think illy of me for having such poor timing.”

“You can ask me anything, anytime.” John says. “You know that.” He picks up his face from Sherlock’s chest, a small encouraging smile on his face. 

“Well...I’ll ask now. But, only if you’re sure that it’s alright that I ask at this time.”

“Of course.”

“Alright then...” Sherlock looks at him shyly. “John...”

“Yes?”

“Will you...” Sherlock hesitates. “Will you m-- uh,” Sherlock looks shy. “Will you merrily run off to get your phone and order in some takeaway?”

John’s jaw falls open and Sherlock gives a wheezing laugh and rolls onto his back, holding his stomach that is aching with laughter already. 

“You...you bloody little-”

“Your  _face_! John...your...your face!”

“You’re such a little...ugh!”

“I can’t...I can’t...John, help! You’re a doctor! Save me, I’m dying!”

“Choke on your laughter, you bastard.” John sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed, then rises to his feet. “You’re lucky that I’m starving as well. Otherwise I might literally kill you.”

“If you did,” Sherlock gets up off the bed as well to follow John out of the room. When he’s caught up to John, he wraps his arms around the man from behind. “I’d be able to solve my own murder, I bet.”

“Right,” John let’s Sherlock hold him as he dials their regular takeaway place. “Are they even open this late?” John covers one of Sherlock’s arms around his waist with his own. 

“Hm,” Sherlock hums an unsure note as he presses a kiss to John’s cheek. “If not, we’ll make them be open.” He says as he drops another kiss, this one onto John’s bad shoulder. John leans back into Sherlock’s body. 

“What are we?”

“Humans, I think.” Sherlock responds. “I mean, at least you are.”

“You know what I meant.”

“Why do you ask?” Sherlock inquires. “Did you actually think I was going to ask you to marry me?”

“I didn’t think so.”

“Did you want me to?”

“I don’t think so.” John says, before he groans and ends the call on his mobile. “It just kept ringing.”

“Try them again, I’m hungry.”

“I could cook.” John suggest. 

“No,” Sherlock pouts into John’s shoulder. “I want takeaway.”

“Me too,” John agrees. “As if I fucking feel like cooking.”

Sherlock laughs into John’s skin. “I like when you curse, it’s funny.”

John looks down at his phone, but doesn’t dial the number back yet. “I’m glad my horrible mouth amuses you.”

“I think you have a lovely mouth.” Sherlock reaches a hand around and tilts John’s face up to his own so he can kiss John’s ‘horrible’ mouth.

“Hm,” John hums against the kiss. “So you say.” There’s a sudden saddened vibe coming from John. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I just...miss my little boy, that’s all.”

“Oh...” Sherlock debates releasing John from his arms and focusing on letting himself slip, so that they could have more ‘little time’. “Should I-”

“No, I’m enjoying this.” John assures him. “But...tomorrow?” John tilts his head back to look up at Sherlock. 

Sherlock thinks for a second. “Yes, tomorrow...but, only if you pester the takeaway place until they pick up.”

“I really don’t think they’re open.”

“Try from my phone, maybe they just like me better.”

“That’s absolute bollocks and you know it.”

“John, try my mobile.” Sherlock points to the counter top where the device is charging. 

“Fine,” John rolls his eyes and begins walking over to the counter. Sherlock is still attached to John and they move as one uncoordinated being across the kitchen.

“You take such small strides, John.”

“My legs are shorter.”

“Excuses.” Sherlock almost trips over the doctor.

“We’re going to die. We’ll fall over and break all our bones and impale all of our vital organs with them. That’s how we’ll end.”

“My god, John. So _dramatic_.” Sherlock comments as they finally make it to his mobile. He unplugs it with one hand and pushes the speedial to the takeaway place before he gives the phone to John. “It’s going to work, I promise.”

“You can’t promise that it’s going to-”

“ _Hello_?” The call is picked up in one and a half rings. Sherlock grins smugly from behind John. The older man tilts his head up to look at Sherlock in bewilderment. 

“Yes, one moment please, I’m looking at the menu.” John gives the small white lie as he continues to look up at Sherlock. 

“What the hell are you doing?” The detective whispers. “Order our food, John.”

“How’d you make that work?”

“What?” Sherlock’s brow furrows, he rolls his eyes. “Who bleeding knows? You can stop time and I can control the mighty beast that is ‘late night takeaway’.” Sherlocks shrugs. “Now for god’s sake, before she hangs up on you, order our food.”

John stifles laughter as he gladly returns to the phone call. Sherlock rests his chin on the top of John’s head as he orders their usual. When the call is done, John puts the phone on the counter.

“Thank you, John.” Sherlock says, presses a kiss to the warm space on the top of John’s head. 

“Yeah, yeah.” John replies, tilting his head to look up at Sherlock again. “Stumble with me to the living room?”

“Kiss me when we get there?”

“Maybe.” John says, Sherlock can hear the smirk in John’s voice. 

“Git.” Sherlock declares.

John just laughs as he begins walking with his attached Sherlock towards the sofa. Sherlock is yet again, the happiest he’s ever been. 


	18. "Tea, brother?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all!
> 
> This update's chapters are: 18-20
> 
> I hope everybody is having a good week so far, I'll be updating again soon! :)  
> -TJL

Sherlock woke up before John, which was rare. Since the previous night, he hadn’t been feeling particularly little. He decided that, as a kind gesture, he would make John tea. 

With a stretch and a yawn, Sherlock sat up in bed. He picked up his dummy and went into the kitchen. He could sense someone’s presence in the living room. He didn’t have to ask who it was. 

“Tea, brother?” Sherlock asks from behind his dummy. 

“Yes.” Mycroft response, not turning to look at him as he sat in John’s chair. “How’s the ‘baby life’ treating you?”

“Fine, thanks.” Sherlock puts the kettle on and walks into the living room to take his seat across from Mycroft. “What brings you here?” He asks, words garbled. 

“Oh, for god’s sake.” Mycroft leaned far forward and took the dummy from Sherlock’s mouth, it made a small ‘pop’ sound as it was taken from his lips. Sherlock did his best not to pout at this. “I can barely understand you with this thing in.”

“Give it  _back_.” Sherlock demanded, holding his hand open, palm facing up to receive it. “Now.”

“What do you like about this?” Mycroft examines the dummy. 

“None of your business.” Sherlock tries to snatch it, but Mycroft moves it out of his reach. 

“I just want to understand.” Mycroft says, holding the dummy out of Sherlock’s reach as he lunges for it again. “Would you like it if I treated you little?”

Sherlock stops scrambling for the dummy and he freezes. 

“What?” He looks up at his older brother. 

“If I treated you as John does?” Mycroft raises a brow. 

“W-why would you?” Sherlock’s brow furrows. He’s fairly certain that this is a trick. “What brings you to my flat today, anyway?” He tries to change the subject.

“Checking on my dear brother,” Mycroft announces. “Also, congratulating you for being a ‘big boy’ and actually completing the case.”

“Well...thanks.” Sherlock replies, eyeing his brother cautiously. 

“But, back to what I was saying-”

“Kettle.” Sherlock says and stands up. 

“What?” Mycroft raises a brow, but then the kettle begins whistling. Sherlock must’ve been mentally timing it because he was up before it was evening whistling. The older brother sat, still holding Sherlock’s dummy in his hand. Twirling it by its plastic ring. 

Mycroft can hear Sherlock preparing the tea in the kitchen. When it’s ready, he brings it in, one mug for Mycroft. 

“You’re not having any?” Mycroft takes the mug in his free hand that isn’t holding Sherlock’s dummy. The younger man is still eyeing the object. 

“I’ve made it for John.” Sherlock responds robotically, still eyeing his dummy. Mycroft follows Sherlock’s gaze, down to the item. 

“So, as I was saying earlier...” Mycroft takes a sip of tea. “About...you being little.”

“Yes?”

“Why do you like it?”

“Why do you think?”

“How the bloody hell should I know, Sherlock? This is your kick.” Mycroft brings the mug to his lips again. 

“It’s not a  _kick_ ,” Sherlock wrinkles his nose as if the word had a bad scent. “It’s...an escape. Sort of. It’s...” Sherlock tries to think of the best way to say it. 

“Fetish?”

“God,  _no_.” Sherlock shakes his head. “It’s not at all sexual. It’s even more pleasing than any sexual act. It’s something I feel in my  _core_ , not my prick.”

“Hm,” Mycroft raises a brow. “So...you do it to satisfy yourself, but not sexually?”

“Emotionally, mentally.”

“How does it feel, now that I have your dummy?”

“I don’t trust you with it.”

“Hm...so this is important?” Mycroft begins twirling it again, enjoying the way his brother’s eyes continue to follow it. 

“Y-yes,” Sherlock says, eyes staying on the dummy. “Give it back.” Even he can hear the slow transition in his voice. 

“Why?”

“Stop.” Sherlock puts his hands in his hair. “Get  _out_  of my head, Mycroft.”

“Brother, I have no idea what you mean.” Mycroft’s grin is impish. He knows that he’s pushing his brother’s buttons. But, he wants to see Sherlock slip. He’s very curious as to what Sherlock is like when he’s little. “If you want the dummy back, all you have to do is ask.”

“Just give it back!” 

“Ask nicely,” Mycroft says. “Good boys use their manners.”

“I’m not a child.”

“Oh, yes you are.” Mycroft continues to smirk. “Ask me nicely, Sherlock.”

“No!” The younger’s voice is getting smaller and smaller each time he responds to Mycroft. The older puts his empty mug down on the side table. 

“Come here.” Mycroft commands, Sherlock doesn’t move. “Won’t you?”

“No...” Sherlock’s voice isn’t angry anymore. It’s hesitant, like he’s testing the water. 

“I’ll give you your dummy back, if you just come here.” Mycroft informs his brother, who now seems quite little. Small enough to make Mycroft stop pushing him. 

Shyly, Sherlock lifts himself from his seat and takes one step to reach his brother.

“Lean close.” Mycroft holds the dummy up, the clear silicone nipple facing Sherlock. The younger continues to eye Mycroft as he leans forward, lips parted to receive the dummy. 

Mycroft is holding the dummy close to his own face. Not close enough to be awkward or strange, but close enough, that when Sherlock leans in to take the dummy, he is at a good range to observe Sherlock’s eyes. 

“Fascinating.” Mycroft comments as his eyes search Sherlock’s. Finally the boy has leaned in close enough to take his dummy. He makes a soft suckling noise as he latches on. “Like a real baby.” The older muses as he continues to hold onto the plastic ring, this upsets Sherlock. He whines, trying to pull away from Mycroft, but keep the dummy in his mouth. 

Sherlock reaches his hands up to pry Mycroft’s from the dummy. But, as he begins to pry, he’s met with a sharp smack to his arm. His eyes widen at the stinging contact of the swat. He lets the dummy come from his lips as he sinks down onto the floor to cry. 

“Oh now, dear boy.” Mycroft crosses his right leg over the left. “Why must you cause such a fuss? I was only playing.” He reaches forward and presses the dummy to Sherlock’s lips. The boy latches on, fat tears still running down his cheeks, whimpering softly.

“Sherlock, sweetie?” Mycroft hears John’s voice from down the hall. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Why are you out of bed?” John’s feet come quickly down the hall. He hasn’t yet seen Mycroft. 

“Dada!” Sherlock whines, feeling particularly small. John can tell by his regression that something’s caused him distress, so he moves even faster. 

“Are you alright?” John’s brow is creased as he approaches. 

“Morning, John. Your boy made you tea, it was very sweet of him.” Mycroft says, stopping John in his tracks. The doctor turns to look at him. 

“Oh bloody hell, no wonder he’s upset.” John rolls his eyes and turns to face Mycroft. “What did you do to him?”

“Discipline.” Mycroft comments, eyeing his sniffling brother. 

“Did you  _hit_  him?” John frowns at Mycroft. 

“Yes.” Sherlock whines before starting to cry again, softly. 

“What is  _wrong_  with you, Mycroft?” John approaches his little boy, Sherlock reaches his arms up to John, as if asking to be picked up. Because John can’t, he simply sits in Sherlock’s seat across from Mycroft and holds his arms open. 

Even though he knows it might look silly, John lets Sherlock rise and curl up into his lap. Mycroft watches the entire thing like a circus show. 

“Fascinating.” Mycroft comments. 

“Why’d you hit him? What did he do?” John asks, Sherlock hides his face in his Daddy’s neck. 

“Nothing really, he tried to use force, to take the dummy from my hand.” Mycroft explains. “I slapped his arm, not that hard, I must add. He fell to the floor like I’d punched his gut.” 

John listens to the information, not sure if he buys it. But, Mycroft never lies. 

“He’s very dramatic. Just like he’s always been.” Mycroft informs John, as if he hasn’t also witnessed Sherlock being over dramatic.

“Why did you have his dummy anyway?” John asks. “I doubt he just gave it to you.”

“I wanted to see it.”

“Why?”

“I was curious.”

“Why?” John asks again.

“Do relax, Dr. Watson.” Mycroft rolls his eyes. “How many times must I remind you that I won’t harm him?”

“You hit him.”

“Discipline, you should look into it.” Mycroft nods. “A swat to the rump would correct bad behaviour.”

“He hasn’t been ‘bad’...so, there really is no need.”

“But he will be, John. It’s in his nature.” Mycroft smiles. “And when he is, you will know what to do.”

“Mycroft...he’s just a baby and-”

“No he’s not.” Mycroft shakes his head.

“He  _is_.” John declares. 

“Whatever,” Mycroft rolls his eyes again. “Anyway, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.” Mycroft nods. 

“Well...alright?”

“Could I come to visit more often?” 

“Pardon?” John looks surprised. 

“No!” Sherlock shouts, face still in John’s neck. Voice still tiny.

“Why would you want to visit?” John asks, cautious. 

“I want to interact with Sherlock, when he’s like this.” Mycroft motions to the boy curled up in John’s lap. 

“Why?” John’s brow creases.

“Do you know how many times you’ve asked me that, this morning?” Mycroft sighs. “Why, why, why, why.”

“Because,” John says. “Usually when you come about, you’re up to something and I don’t want you near us if you’re trying to start trouble.”

“John, I keep telling you that-”

“I know, ‘you won’t hurt Sherlock’.” John finishes the sentence. “I  _know_  you have good intentions, but...that doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to worry.”

“You are certainly allowed to worry, yes.” Mycroft nods. “But, I’m simply curious. And, slightly concerned. So, I’d like to observe.”

John thinks it over. “How often would you like to visit.”

“A few times a week.”

“How many is a few?”

“Two or three.” Mycroft responds. 

“No.” Sherlock shakes his head, John takes into consideration that Sherlock really might not like that. But...he can’t fault Mycroft for being interested or worried. 

“Make it once or twice.” John says. At this, Sherlock doesn’t protest.

“Hm, fine.” Mycroft nods. 

“Only if you bring presents.” Sherlock picks his head up from John’s shoulder and glares at Mycroft. 

“If I bring presents?” Mycroft is speaking in a voice he thinks is far more suitable to speak to children with. Sherlock nods. “What kind of presents?”

“Sweets.”

“What about books and toys?” Mycroft suggests. 

“Yes.” Sherlock nods and puts his face back into John’s neck. 

John watches Mycroft eyeing Sherlock. He still doesn’t know how he feels about this agreement. John can’t imagine what Mycroft would find so interesting about this. Of course, it _is_ an interesting topic. Sherlock Holmes, wishing to be treated as a baby. But...why would Mycroft want to be a part of this?

“Thank you for having me.” Mycroft stands up from the chair. 

“Well, you invited yourself as always.” John shrugs. “But thanks for coming...I guess.”

“Yes.” Mycroft nods to John then looks at Sherlock. “I hope you have a fine day with your daddy, Sherlock. I will see you very soon.”

The little boy peeks his face from John’s neck. 

“Bye-bye!” Mycroft uses his ‘talking to children’ voice again. Sherlock simply eyes Mycroft, clinging tighter to John’s tshirt. Then, Mycroft walks down the steps and out of 221B. 

With Mycroft gone, John turns to look at his baby. 

“Are you alright?” John furrow’s his brow as he looks at his boy. Sherlock nods, pushing himself off of John’s lap and onto the floor. Once he’s down he brings his knees to his chest. “Did he hurt you badly?”

Sherlock shakes his head. 

“Just a little swat?” John raises a brow, Sherlock nods. “Alright then, as long as you’re ok.”

“Tea.” Sherlock points to the kitchen. 

“Oh yeah, Mycroft said you made tea for Daddy. That’s very sweet of you.” John smiles at his baby. “But, Daddy wants to change your nappy first, is that alright?”

“Not wet.” Sherlock shakes his head. 

“Can I check?” 

Sherlock huffs. He knows he’s wet, but he doesn’t feel like being changed. As John checks his nappy, Sherlock frowns with his arms folded.

“Liar, liar.” John clicks his tongue. “What if I’d believed you, and left you in that wet nappy all morning, huh?” 

“Hmph...” Sherlock huffs. 

“Let’s go change your nappy.” John stands up and holds out his hand. “Come on.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“Wanna stay here.”

“And do what?”

“Um...” Sherlock looks around for an excuse. “Telly.” He points. 

“You can watch the telly when we’re done with your nappy.”

“Change here.” Sherlock pats the floor.

“Sherlock...” John sighs. “We’ll be back in here just as soon as we’re done. Why can’t we change it in your bedroom like normal?”

“Fine!” Sherlock gets up and stomps to his room, John follows him. 

When they get there, John closes the door and comes over to Sherlock. John’s face is very unhappy. 

“Sherlock Holmes,” John says. “It is still quite early in the day, and there are other people, in other flats, probably still trying to sleep. We  _do not_ stomp about, even during other times of the day. It is rude. Do you understand?”

Sherlock eyes John angrily, but he nods. 

“Good, now lay down.” John goes over to grab the nappy supplies, while Sherlock lays down. When John comes back, Sherlock’s arms are folded and he’s suckling angrily on his dummy. John sighs. “Are you going to be grumpy all morning?”

Silence from little Sherlock. 

“Are you going to give Daddy a hard time during breakfast?” John asks, still no response. “Maybe Mycroft was right, and Daddy will have to spank you.”

“No! No!” Sherlock shakes his head. “I’ll be good!”

“Oh, excellent.” John smiles. “Do you want food for breakfast, or just a bottle?”

“Bottle.”

“Just the bottle?”

“Yes.”

“Alright love.” John says as he cleans Sherlock. The boy is staying still for John, even though he feels like squirming. He doesn’t feel like laying down for the nappy change. He wants to go play very badly. 

When John was done with the nappy, Sherlock got up and toddled off before John could put his pajama bottoms back on. 


	19. Bottle

Sherlock had a lot of energy this morning, but he calmed down a bit while John was warming his bottle of formula. Sherlock was watching John prepare it in the kitchen. As he measured the formula mix, added the water and shook it up, then heated the mixture. He tested the temperature on his own skin before approaching Sherlock with the ready bottle. 

“Floor or couch?” John asks, shaking the bottle more. 

“Floor.” Sherlock answers, patting it. John dropped down onto the floor and leaned his back against the coffee table. 

“Come here, sweet pea.” John pats his lap. Sherlock crawls over to him and lays across John’s thighs, his head in the crook of John’s free arm to be supported. 

John brought the bottle to Sherlock’s lips, the baby latches on quickly and begins to suckle softly. The older male smiles down at him listening to Sherlock’s soft nursing noises. John extends the index finger, of the hand holding the bottle, to lightly brush over Sherlock’s cheekbone. The baby looks up into John’s eyes before shutting his own, but only briefly. 

“You’re so precious, and I love you so much.” John says in a soft voice, Sherlock shifts in his daddy’s arms. “I had some of your tea, while I waited for the bottle to heat up. I enjoyed it very much.”

Sherlock looks up at him as if to say ‘really?’ and John nods. 

“Really, I did.” John answers the boy’s questioning look. He sees the baby’s lips quirk up at the corners. “I can’t believe I have work tomorrow.” John sighs, Sherlock’s small smile fades. The older man feels Sherlock’s hand holding onto the front of tshirt. “But, I was thinking...maybe I could bring you with me.”

Sherlock’s brow creases in question. 

“Well,” John answers this look as well. “My office, no one goes in or out but Sarah and I, and Sarah won’t bother you. And, I could come see you in between patients and we could eat lunch together.”

Sherlock listens, nodding when John finishes. 

“I don’t know if it would work for all the time, but...we could try it, right?” John looks down at Sherlock, the baby nods. “Good.” John smiles. “Maybe it’ll be fun.”

Sherlock’s eyes droop again, then close. He’s halfway through the bottle when he unlatches himself from the nipple. 

“You haven’t even finished half of it.” John passes the nipple over Sherlock’s mouth. “There are only enough calories in here for a small meal...like  _small_. You have to at least finish the entire thing.”

Sherlock shakes his head and turns his face into John’s body. 

“If you don’t finish the bottle, I’m going to make you eat something else.” John informs him, the baby peeks up from his hiding place against John’s tummy. “You wouldn’t like that would you?”

Sherlock shakes his head. “But...Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“Can you burp me?” Sherlock sits up. “I feel the pressure, but it won’t come out. Maybe after that, I could finish the bottle?” Sherlock looks shyly at John, the older man gives a breathy laugh. 

“Uh, sure.” John opens his arms to Sherlock, the boy straddles his daddy’s lap and rests his head on John’s shoulder, facing away from him. This is probably the thing he’s done for Sherlock that feels the silliest. Still, John doesn’t mind. 

He rubs soft circles on Sherlock’s back, between his shoulder blades. Sherlock seems to relax against John more when he does this. John begins patting gently, Sherlock shifts a bit. After a few moments, John hears it and stops patting. 

“Better?” John asks, Sherlock nods. “Ready to finish your feeding?”

“Uh-huh.” Sherlock nods again, moving to lay back down across John’s lap. He has his lips parted and ready. John brings him the bottle, the boy latches on. He’s drinking hurriedly and John chuckles. 

“Slow down, love. We don’t want you to get sick.” John traces his finger over Sherlock’s cheek bone again, then the moist corner of the baby’s mouth. Sherlock’s eyes focus up into John’s. It’s funny, not being afraid to look in Sherlock’s eyes. 

Not that John was ever really  _afraid_ , it’s just that...Sherlock Holmes is intimidating, to most people. And, John would always feel embarrassed when he was caught looking at Sherlock. This is because, he wasn’t ‘looking’ at Sherlock. He was  _looking_  at Sherlock. He was finding every part of his face that he found beautiful. Maybe Sherlock knew that. 

When Sherlock finished the bottle, John rinsed it out and left it in the sink to be washed. However, he was going to have his own breakfast before tidying up the kitchen. 

John watched Sherlock from the kitchen table as the boy crawled around the living room. He wasn’t sure exactly  _what_  Sherlock was doing. 

The baby would crawl with his owl to one location, leave it there then go somewhere else. He’d babble some things, then go back over to the owl, babble some more, and then put the owl somewhere else again. John couldn’t help but laugh. The entire thing seemed so silly, but his baby really enjoyed it. 


	20. And, He Returns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> I've posted chapters 18-20 and I hope you all enjoy them!
> 
> See you all again, very soon! :)

John was sitting at his desk, in front of his laptop. He had been having an instant messaging conversation with Sarah, his colleague from the hospital. She was briefing him on how things were going there without him, and how much they desperately needed him back. He tried to sound enthusiastic to return. She asked if anything new was going on in 221B lately, and John didn’t know what to say. 

But, he didn’t get a chance to reply, he heard feet coming up the steps. Luckily, Sherlock was down for a kip, so whoever it was wouldn’t see him trotting about in a nappy. The only evidence of little Sherlock was the bottle in the sink. However, whoever the person was, probably wouldn’t notice. If they did, John would write it off as an experiment. 

Surprisingly, the person who entered, was none other than Mycroft. The two men eyed each other. 

“Hello again...Mycroft.” John motions to the flat. “Sit where you’d like.”

“Greetings, Dr. Watson.” Mycroft never sits on the couch, but he did this time. The air in the flat got rapidly more tense as time passed. “Where’s Sherlock?”

“Sleeping a bit.” John closes his laptop. “He’s due to be up any minute now. He’ll either whine for me to come get him, or he’ll toddle in here. He might need his nappy changed.”

“He wets in his sleep?” Mycroft seemed concerned about it.

“No, just upon waking he’ll...yeah.” John shrugs. “He’s never wet in his sleep...as far as I know.”

“Ah,” Mycroft crosses his legs, thinks about the matter. “What else does he do?”

“Pardon?”

“What is ‘little Sherlock’ like?”

“He’s very sweet, loves to give kisses and cuddle.” John thinks about what else. “He’s still not enthused with food, big or little. He sleeps a lot more, and through the night...unlike ‘big Sherlock’. He...empties his bladder regularly. Never had to change a messy nappy yet...it’s not that he hasn’t gone. He just has been to the toilet.”

“Hm,” Mycroft nods.

“He’s playful...I really enjoy his little side.” John smiles. “It’s effecting his big side as well.”

“How so?”

“He’s much more physical with me, not...sexually. But he likes to be close to me, and he smiles around me a lot more.”

“He’s in love with you, you moron.” Mycroft rolls his eyes. “That’s not ‘his little side effecting his big side’ that’s him opening up to you, finally.”

“What?” John’s brow furrows.

“You two are  _in love_  with each other. Being ‘in love’ have you heard of it?” Mycroft raises an eyebrow. 

“N-no,” John shakes his head. But...he kind of knows it’s true. He’s just so used to denying it. He knows he has feelings for Sherlock, but the term ‘in love’ didn’t seem to fit those feelings. When he and Sherlock had discussed their feelings before, they agreed that what they had was more than romance, and ‘in love’ seemed to fit the romance bracket. “Not ‘in love’.”

“You do love him though, yes?” Mycroft asks. 

“Of course.”

“Like a boyfriend?”

“Ugh,” John scoffed at the term. “I don’t think there are any conventional terms to fit what we are. We’re just...‘John and Sherlock’ and that should be enough. We don’t need labels.”

“Hm,” Mycroft hums again. “Interesting, this whole thing is.”

“Why is that?”

“Abnormal things usually are the most interesting, I find.” Mycroft says tilting his chin upward at John as he grins. John furrows his brow as he focuses on Mycroft, trying to read through his funny little head. But, it’s so hard to do with the Holmes brothers, it seems. 

“Daddy?” Calls Sherlock’s voice from the bedroom. John and Mycroft both turn their heads. 

“Would you like to come with me, to go get him?”

“Oh...” Mycroft seems caught off guard by the question. “Would that be alright?”

“Probably not,” John says as he stands up, leaving the room. Mycroft had the option to stay put or follow. He rose to his feet and followed quickly behind John. 

John opens the bedroom door and walks inside. Sherlock’s head turns to him, he gives John a wide smile from behind his dummy. 

“Hello, perfect boy.” John says as he crawls onto the bed, next to his baby. “Did you sleep well, love?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Sherlock nods, crawling over to John to rest himself against his daddy. “Hungry.”

“You’re hungry?” John’s never heard that statement from Sherlock before, but, he’s happy to. 

“Hungry.” Sherlock confirms, nodding his head. 

“Well, alright.” John says. “Are you wanting snack, or lunch?”

“Lunch.”

“What do you want?”

“Lots.”

John simply laughs at his baby. “You want ‘lots’ for lunch? Alright. Daddy will make you a big lunch. Only if you promise to eat it.”

“Yes.” Sherlock nods. 

“Can Daddy check your nappy?” John asks, the baby nods again. Though, his head turns towards the doorway. John had forgotten Mycroft was there. 

Sherlock didn’t say anything to John about Mycroft, he just kept his eyes on him as he felt John’s hand against his nappy. He knew he was wet, before John asked. Mycroft kept Sherlock’s eye contact. 

“Let’s get you changed, and then lunch, yeah?” John gets up to get the supplies. 

“Mycroft.” Sherlock says in a soft voice. 

“What?” John asks from across the room, he brings his eyes up to the man in the doorway. “Oh, yeah. Your big brother came by again to see you.” 

“Hello, Sherlock.” Mycroft smiles at his little brother. “Can I come in?”

“Well, I’m about to change his nappy. But, if he doesn’t mind, then I don’t either.” John shrugs, then he looks at his baby. “Do you mind?”

“Mycroft is mean.” Sherlock comments, glaring up at his brother. “Mycroft hit Sherlock.”

“I was only teaching you that you’d done wrong.” Mycroft comes to sit on the bed, looking down at Sherlock. He notices that Sherlock’s dummy is laying beside his head on the duvet, so he picks it up. Meanwhile, John is starting to change Sherlock’s nappy. 

Sherlock is watching Mycroft with his dummy. 

“I’ve brought a few gifts with me, you know.” Mycroft says. “They’re in the living room.” 

Sherlock’s eyes are locked onto the dummy, like earlier. 

“I think you might like them.” Mycroft lowers the dummy to the baby’s lips, Sherlock parts them and latches on, suckling quickly at first, but it slows down and he takes his eyes from Mycroft to look at John instead. He felt John taping the nappy into place. When John’s done, Sherlock sits up and Mycroft takes the dummy away again. 

“Why do you do that?” John asks, watching Mycroft move the dummy around, making Sherlock’s eyes follow it. 

“Do what?” Mycroft asks. 

“Take his dummy away.” John sits on the bed, Sherlock between them. 

“I like to watch his eyes.” Mycroft comments, John doesn’t tell him how strange his reason sounds. Well, actually he does. 

“That’s...odd. To say the least.” John folds his arms. “Why his eyes?”

“You always ask me ‘why’.” Mycroft speaks, not looking at John. “Anyway, I like to watch his eyes, because they’re so childlike. It’s like looking at my little brother from long ago.”

“He looks childlike all the time, when he’s being little. You don’t have to take his dummy.” John runs his hands through the baby’s curls. 

“You don’t understand, John.” Mycroft shakes his head. “Since he’s grown up, he never lets me help him. He never lets me give him anything. He barely even wants to see me.” He begins. “But, when I take his dummy...he lets me give it to him...he...lets me interact with him.” Mycroft’s voice breaks and it’s almost unnoticeable. 

_Little Sherlock certainly has an effect on people_. John thinks. He watches as Mycroft brings the dummy close to Sherlock’s lips. The baby is hesitant, like he thinks Mycroft might take the dummy back, right away again. But, he leans forward and latches on, suckling on the dummy and turning his head away into John, shyly peeking at his brother. 

“He makes you emotional.” John states, eyes on Mycroft. 

“Emotions? Bah.” Mycroft waves his hand even though it’s evident in his voice, and on his face. 

“Uh, Mycroft...I’m not sure how to say this, but...” John takes a deep breath. “This here, in our flat...alone. This is a safe space. And, if you’re feeling something...it’s ok to show it. You don’t have to hold it in.”

Mycroft looks at John, then Sherlock and he wipes a hand over his face. 

“I thought this all was silly, you know?” Mycroft clear his throat. “This  _baby_  stuff. I thought something was terribly wrong with my brother, or that...he was just being foolish and lazy. Not wanting to care for himself, making you do it.” 

“Yeah?”

“And well...I’m starting to see that there is so much more going on than nappies and dummies.” Mycroft looks up into John’s eyes. “There’s something  _here_...in the atmosphere of it all. You’re learning to understand each other better...right?”

“Something like that, yes.” John nods. “There’s a lot of trust, and patience. But, also love and...honesty.”

“That’s incredible.” Mycroft comments. “Truly.”

“You’re welcome to visit.” John says. “To see him, and maybe if you’re kind...he’ll learn to like you more. And...you can see where that gets you...when he’s big.”

“Really?” Mycroft asks. 

“Sure, you’re family.” John looks at Sherlock as the boy crawls across the bed to his owl. “I’m gonna go toss this wet nappy in the bin. You two...do what you’d like.” John gets up from the bed and exits the room. Leaving the brothers alone.

“That owl looks familiar.” Mycroft’s brow creases as he thinks about it. “Where have I seen it?”

“Zoo.” Sherlock says turning the owl upside down. “Saw owls, you bought this for Sherlock.” His voice is extremely small. 

“I bought that for you?” Mycroft’s eyebrows go up. “And you kept it? I don’t even remember...it had to be long ago.”

“Yes.” Sherlock nods and sits with his legs folded. He runs his hands over the owl’s detailed feathers. 

“Does your snowy owl have a name?” 

“Yes.” Sherlock nods again. 

“Will you tell me it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Secret.” Sherlock says, crawling off the bed. “Hungry.”

“Oh that’s right,” Mycroft rises to his feet. “You did tell your daddy that you were hungry. Should we go remind him to make you lunch?”

“Yes.” Sherlock reaches his hand out and takes Mycroft’s. “Brother eat too.”

“You want me to have lunch with you?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve already-”

“Eat anyway.” Sherlock begins dragging his brother down the hall behind him. 


	21. Gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there!
> 
> Chapters 21-23 this time :)
> 
> Enjoy, thanks for reading!

Sherlock really  _was_  hungry, he ate half of a sandwich, a portion of grapes and banana slices. Even one of the left over biscuits, from the plate that Mrs. Hudson had brought. That was much more than he normally would have eaten. 

John watches the baby gnawing on his biscuit. 

“This is the longest he’s stayed completely little. It’s been all day.” John informs Mycroft. 

“Really?” Mycroft looks at his brother. “Interesting.”

“Also, you’re the only other person I’ve seen him be little in front of.”

“Does that mean something?” Mycroft wonders aloud, John looks at him. 

“I’m not sure,” John reaches over a napkin and wipes dribble from Sherlock’s chin. The baby is absentmindedly looking around the room as he chews at his biscuit. “Maybe it means he trusts you.” John shrugs. 

“I’d like to think that, it’d make me...happy.”

“Good, then.” John nods. 

“Thank you, for letting me stay.” Mycroft takes an uneaten grape from Sherlock’s plate. The baby doesn’t notice. 

“Thank Sherlock, not me.” John shrugs. “If he would have wanted you gone, I would’ve given you the boot long ago. But, he’s not asked you to leave, so I won’t.”

“You love him.” Mycroft comments. 

“I do.” John looks at his boy fondly. “In many ways.”

“He’s lucky to have you.” Mycroft nods. “You understand him.”

“Barely.” John chuckles. 

“It’s enough.” Mycroft insists. “Do you...think he’d play with me?”

“If you offer, and follow his rules.” John smiles. “He’s very particular about play time.”

“Hm,” Mycroft hums. “I’ll give him his presents when he’s done eating. Then maybe we can play.”

“Sure,” John stands up. “Are you all done?” John asks the baby. Sherlock reaches his arms up, asking to be picked up. John pretends not to notice. “Let me clean your yucky hands.” John wipes Sherlock’s hands and face. The boy tries turning away from the cleaning hand, but John gets him still. “I gotcha!” John tickles the underside of Sherlock chin and the boy giggles loudly. Mycroft is watching, smiling. 

“Dada did tickles.” Sherlock picks his dummy up from the table and puts it into his mouth. 

“I know. I did, didn’t I?” John kisses the boy’s forehead. “I got you good, that time.”

“I go play?” Sherlock points to the living room.

“Big brother has presents for you, I think you should go see what they are.” John says, picking up Sherlock’s empty plate. “Go see what he’s got for you.”

“M’kay.” Sherlock gets up from the table and waits for Mycroft to go first. But, Mycroft is confused as to why Sherlock is just standing there.

“He’s little, Mycroft.” John reminds him, observing the brothers’ standoff. “He waits for you to lead, then he follows.”

“Oh...” Mycroft starts walking into the living room, Sherlock at his heels. 

With all of the grace of an overgrown baby, Sherlock plops himself onto his bum on the living room floor. He waits for Mycroft to present him with the gifts. 

“Alright, Sherlock.” Mycroft says in an enthusiastic tone. “I’ll give you the simple ones first.” He sits a small bag in front of Sherlock. It’s a paper bag, with handles. The name brand on the side is from a higher end baby clothing store. John eyes it, wondering if Mycroft has forgotten Sherlock’s actual size. He’s wondering what Mycroft could’ve gotten from the store that would  _actually_  fit Sherlock. 

What the baby pulls out, are several things wrapped carefully in tissue paper. Sherlock’s brow furrows as he tears the tissue paper off. He reveals several strips of fabric. They’re varying in color, with two silver bits on either side. At first, John thinks they’re some sort of neckwear, because they look similar to a collar. But, he knows Mycroft wouldn’t buy a collar. Nor, would they sell collars at a store for babies. 

“What are they?” John asks, Mycroft looks up at him with a smile. 

“Glad you asked.” Mycroft reaches forward, and takes Sherlock’s dummy. Then, he takes one of the colorful fabrics from Sherlock’s lap. Mycroft clips one of the silver ends to the dummy, the other, to the fabric of Sherlock’s tshirt. 

The baby looks down at his dummy, which is now clipped to him. He picks up the dummy and puts it in his mouth. 

“Clip.” Sherlock announces. “Can’t lose dummy?”

“Exactly, smart boy.” Mycroft nods. “Isn’t that nice?”

“Yes.” Sherlock smiles widely. Mycroft is pleased to see Sherlock likes it. Then, Mycroft’s eyes look up to John for approval. He sees John is smiling as well, arms folded. 

“That’s actually  _super_  handy.” John admits. “Still, you didn’t have to go and buy the ‘fancier brand’, Mycroft. And, you didn’t have to buy so many of them.”

“Ah-ah, Dr. Watson.” Mycroft shakes his head. “Only the best.”

“Fine, fine.” John smiles. “Thank you.”

“Yes, of course.” Mycroft says, placing another gift in front of Sherlock. A thin box. 

The baby reaches forward and pulls the box to him. He begins tearing off the wrapping paper in strips. John and Mycroft watch patiently. And, when the box is all the way unwrapped, Sherlock realizes it the kind of box that has a lid and a bottom, but he can’t get the lid off himself. 

“Help.” Sherlock says to no one in particular. 

“Would you like me to help you?” Mycroft offers, Sherlock shakes his head. 

“Dada, help.” Sherlock turns to look over his should at John. 

“Oh, sure.” John sits down with the two brothers and lifts the lid. 

Sherlock eyes the items in the box, before smiling. 

“ _Brilliant_!” Sherlock exclaims, it’s in a voice between big and little. It’s the closest thing to ‘big’ Sherlock that John has heard all day. 

Mycroft and John watch Sherlock pull the first pair of pajamas from the box. They’re blue, with different elements abbreviated on the fabric. They’re the kind of pajamas that zip down the front and have feet on the bottom. There are two others in the box as well, with different colors and designs.

“Put on?” Sherlock’s voice is back to being completely little, as he tries to pull his tshirt over his head. But, the dummy clip, prevents him from doing so, because the dummy is still in his mouth. He grumbles frustratedly, Mycroft chuckles as John works the baby’s shirt back down. 

“Those are for night-night, Sherlock.” John feels embarrassed having just said ‘night-night’, but he moves on quickly from it. “It’s not time for bed yet, it’s still the afternoon.”

“No,” Sherlock shakes his head, trying again to remove his shirt. “Put on  _now_.”

“Sherlock, why don’t you look at what else you’ve got?” John points to the other gift Mycroft has yet to give. “It looks like you’ve got one more.”

“More?” Sherlock leaves his shirt alone, even though it’s still raised over his tummy. John rolls the shirt back down completely. 

“Yes, one more.” Mycroft nods. “This one is a toy.”

“Toy?” Sherlock’s eyes widen at the word. “Mine?” He points to himself.

“Yes, yours.” Mycroft nods and moves the box forward. 

John is caught off guard by Sherlock turning to him, with a large smile on his face. He had expected Sherlock just to rip open the toy. But...he took a moment to acknowledge John. It was like he was trying to share the happiness he was feeling with John. Even underneath the babyish expression of his eyes, John could see big Sherlock, buried deep...and, he was happy too. And, that’s honestly the only thing John could want. 

“I know.” John says softly, nodding at the boy. Sherlock hadn’t said anything, nor had he prompted John to say anything. But, when John said ‘I know’ it seemed to be what Sherlock wanted, because the boy nodded back. 

“Yes.” Little Sherlock says, then turns back to the box. 

Mycroft had been watching Sherlock and John’s silent conversation. Somewhere deep, it struck a chord in Mycroft. It struck a chord in the man because he felt jealous. He was jealous of the way, that even with the strangest things in Sherlock’s life, he has John to be a part of it with him. Sherlock has someone, who even when they don’t understand...tries to understand. Someone who would literally be there through anything. But, he’s also...very, really, incredibly happy for his little brother. 

_You’ve done well, Sherlock._  Mycroft thinks, as he watches the boy unwrap the last gift. 

When Sherlock finally has it unwrapped, he looks at the box with focused eyes. The toy was a 3D puzzle, one that, when built, would be a DNA model. The twisting, turning beauty that it was, made out of color-coded pieces. 

“ _Yes_!” Sherlock’s voice went back to being ‘in between’ again. 

John wonders what that meant, when Sherlock went ‘in between’ about the gifts. Did it mean that both big and little Sherlock were interested? Did it mean that he was so thrilled that, like when he was emotionally charged, that it pushed him out of his little state?

“Do you like it?” Mycroft asks, even though it’s clear that Sherlock likes it very much. 

“Now?” Sherlock tries to open it, but he can’t get it open. 

“You want to put it together now?” Mycroft raises a brow, Sherlock nods. “May I...do it with you?”

“Please?” Is the baby’s response. This makes Mycroft give a wide smile, he feels warm inside. 

“Yes, I’d love to.” Mycroft leans forward and takes the box. 

“Sherlock,” John taps the boy’s shoulder. “Thank your brother, love.”

“Oh...” Sherlock looks up at Mycroft. “Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome.” Mycroft smiles at him. “Now, let’s play. Shall we?”

“Yes.” Sherlock gets on his hands and knees, crawling over to sit beside his brother. He leans his head on Mycroft’s shoulder, as the older brother opens the box. Mycroft glances down at the boy and smiles again. Then he looks up at John, grinning as if to say ‘Look John, he doesn’t hate me!’ and John just nods, getting up from the floor. 

John decides to let the brothers play, and with a sigh, he dismisses himself to the kitchen. He does the dishes, in order to distract himself. John  _was_  happy that the two were getting along. But...he realizes that he liked it better, when Little Sherlock was only his. When only he got the closeness, the smiles. When it was just them. 

But, he has to remind himself of the good things about this. John doesn’t have to worry about having to keep the secret to himself. If he wants to have someone to talk about Sherlock’s little side with, he could talk to Mycroft. 

Also, Mycroft agreed to bring Sherlock gifts when he visited. That meant, hopefully more handy things for the baby, also more toys. 

Another good thing, is that...if there was ever any reason why John would need a babysitter for Sherlock, well...now he had one. 

So, good. This is good. And, it would be even better...if John could stop being such a selfish prick. Or...was he really being selfish? Is it so wrong of him to want to keep his baby to himself? To have something that was uniquely only his and Sherlock’s? 

But...they had other things that were just theirs, right? Like late night takeaway after solving mysteries. Dinner at Angelo’s. Even more than that, if John really thought about it, they had a lot.

There was nothing really to worry about. Especially because at the end of the day...at the end of every day, Sherlock would still be his. And only his. Big or little. 


	22. Tummy

“Mycroft leaving?” Sherlock asks as the man gathered up his things. 

“Yes, I’ve got to go. I wasn’t expecting to even stay this long.” Mycroft explains. “But, I’ll see you very soon. Alright?”

“Yes.” Sherlock nods as the older approached him. 

“Might I have a hug?” Mycroft asks. Sherlock visibly debates this, his arms folded as he sits on the floor. But, he does nod and rise to his feet. The brothers embrace very quickly, John and Mycroft shake hands. “Bye-bye, Sherlock. See you soon.” Mycroft says to his brother, then looks up at John. “Thank you, John, this was great.”

“Of course.” John nods. “Thank you for the gifts, and for spending time here today.”

“Yes,” Mycroft smiles. “I’ll be on my way.”

And with that, he’s gone. 

Sherlock sits back onto the floor, suckling his dummy a bit noisily, like he’s trying hard to self sooth. 

“Are you alright?” John asks the boy, Sherlock turns to look at him. 

Sherlock thinks about it, then shakes his head. 

“Are you sad that Mycroft left?” John guesses. Again Sherlock thinks about it, then shakes his head. “Then what’s wrong, love?”

“Tummy.” Sherlock says, holding a hand to his abdomen. 

“Oh...” John is quiet for a second. “Do you think you might need to-”

“No.” Sherlock frowns and folds his arms. 

“Alright, alright.” John holds up his hands in surrender. “I’m just saying, you had a big lunch and it’s been-”

“No!” Sherlock says again, then lays himself flat on the floor, face down. 

“Dramatic boy.” John says. “Well, Daddy has to make a phone call, so...while I do that, you can mope and sulk.”

“No.” Is Sherlock’s replied, muffled by the floor.

“Yeah, yeah.” John sits at the desk. “Let me know if you need a nappy change, or anything.”

“No.”

~*~

“Hey, Sarah.” John speaks into his mobile, glancing at Sherlock heaped on the floor still. “I was calling, because -- oh, I’m fine. Thanks.” John listens to her speak for a moment, before he responds. “Yeah, I was calling because I got the email you sent me.”

Sherlock huffs, as John’s no longer paying attention to him. The little boy crawls to the corner and folds his arms. He sits there, glaring at the back of John’s head. 

“No, it’s not that.” John says. “I was wondering if, maybe I should come in earlier tomorrow. Just to -- yeah, because that’s always  _fun_.” John’s being sarcastic, and he chuckles when Sarah laughs. 

Sherlock simply groans and rolls his eyes. He wants to focus on staying grumpy with his daddy, but...his tummy is still not feeling its best. He’s feeling pressure and other slight discomforts.

“Sure, that’d be great.” John nods. “Um, tomorrow, I’m bringing in my -- um, Sherlock. My friend, Sherlock. He’s working on something and the office space would be best for that so -- no, it’s nothing like that. But, would it be alright if I let him use the office space?” John listens to her reply. “No, he’ll be fine. Just, try not to disturb him, you know how Sherlock is.”

The boy is listening to his daddy talking about him, he rolls his eyes again as he continues to be ignored. 

“Thank you for being understanding.” John tells her, he can hear Sherlock making small huffy sounds in the corner behind him. He assumes it’s just Sherlock being  grumpy. “Sure, so I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” John nods. “Yeah, haha. Alright, cheers. Yeah. Ok, bye.” John hangs up the phone and puts it down on the desk. 

Sherlock has gone silent. 

“Well, it’s official, lad.” John says without looking at Sherlock. “Tomorrow morning, you and I are going to work.” John announces. “Well,  _I’ll_  be working, you’ll be sitting in my office all day. But, it’ll be more fun than it sounds. And, you won’t have to be far away from Daddy.” John turns to look at the boy. “Won’t that be great?”

Sherlock looks up at him, he nods. His face looks a bit...odd. He looks uncomfortable, to say the least. Not just his face, but the way he’s sitting too. Well, not sitting. Sherlock is squatting in the corner, arms around his knees. 

“Are you...alright?” John asks. 

“Daddy...” Sherlock’s voice comes out very quietly.

“Yes?” John raises an eyebrow. “Is there a reason why you’re hiding in the corner?”

“Nappy.”

“Nappy?” John repeats. “You need me to change you?”

“Yes, please.” Sherlock answers from the corner.

“Sure, will you come here?”

“No.” Sherlock shakes his head. 

“Why not?”

“Uh...” Sherlock doesn’t answer. 

“Do you have a messy nappy, Sherlock?” John asks. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. Remember? Daddy said it’s alright.” John reminds his baby. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Well, come here, love.” John stands up from the desk. He looks at Sherlock, he’s still shyly curled up in the corner. “The sooner we change you, the sooner we can get you all clean and sweet smelling again.”

“O-ok...” Sherlock walks slowly out from his corner, and he takes John’s hand. 

Instead of the bedroom, John takes Sherlock to the bathroom. The boy stands there, unsure of what to do.

“You stay here, I’ll be right back.” John goes into the bedroom and gets the nappy supplies. When he comes back, Sherlock is sucking his thumb and playing with a stray curl by his ear. “Here...let me...get you a towel to lay down on.” John whistles as he cards through the linen closet for an older towel, one they wouldn’t mind using for a messy nappy change. 

John lays the towel down and pats it. “Come on, sweet boy.”

Sherlock does as he’s told, and he lays down. He’s blushing a bit, worried that this might be too much for John to do. He’s slipping a bit out of his headspace. 

“Why in the bathroom, Daddy?” Sherlock asks, John glances up at him as he un-tapes the nappy. 

“Why?” John gives a soft smile and tickles Sherlock’s side gently. “We can’t have a stinky boy in the bedroom. Can we?” He tickles gently again, and by now, Sherlock is giggling wildly. 

“No, Daddy.” He responds, inserting his thumb back into his mouth. 

“Love,” John says, noticing he’s sucking his thumb. “That’s why Mycroft got you your clip, remember?” John reaches for the dummy attached to the colorful clip, he presses the nipple to the boy’s mouth. He latches on, and John smiles. “We don’t have to worry about forgetting your dummies anymore. Still, I should’ve gotten you your owl. I’m sorry.” 

John opens the nappy, not seeming really fazed by anything. He grabs a wipe and then, it’s just like any other nappy change. Sherlock isn’t really sure what he was so worried about. 

The man is quick and thorough about the nappy change, with his doctorly way of handling the task. Sherlock is clean in no time and John folds the nappy up. 

He quickly puts Sherlock into a new clean nappy. 

“Alright,” John announces. “You can get up now, I’m gonna go dispose of this.” 

Sherlock doesn’t get up though, he stays on the floor. Though, he’s not sure  _why_  he stays. When John comes back to wash his hands, he chuckles at the baby still on the floor. 

“Are you ok?” John steps over him to get to the sink. 

“Yes.” Sherlock replies. 

“Then, why don’t you get up?”

“Need help.” Sherlock answers, because it’s the first thing that comes to mind. Of course he doesn’t really need help. John looks over his shoulder at the boy. 

“No  _way_ ,” John pretends to be astonished. “You need  _help_? Really? Oh goodness, love. What’s happened to your legs? Have they gone to jelly?”

“Yes.” 

“Oh no, my  _poor_  baby boy.” John turns the water off and dries his hands. He comes over to Sherlock and bends down. “Is my baby ok? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“Yes.”

“No you don’t, you dramatic sausage.” John holds onto Sherlock’s biceps, pulling him into a seated position. “But, guess what?”

“What?” Sherlock asks as John pushes curls from his forehead. 

“We can put on a pair of your new pajamas now.” John announces and Sherlock’s face lights up. He moves to get up quickly. But, as he moves forward, he bumps his forehead into John’s. 

“Ow.” Both males say, bringing a hand to their respective temples. John begins chuckling, Sherlock does too. 

“Now we really do have to bring you to the hospital, baby.” John jokes as he stands up, helping Sherlock to his feet as well. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” 

“Good, let’s go get your pajamas.”


	23. “You heard me, John.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy chapters 21-23!
> 
> Talk with you all, very soon :)
> 
> UPDATE: I'm away on holiday, but I will be back home tonight and I will start writing again soon. I have most of the next few chapters done I just want the chance to edit and rewrite somethings before I post. Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Happy Thanksgiving, to those who celebrate!

Sherlock is laying on the bed, where John usually dresses him. His daddy brings in his three new pairs of pajamas. Sherlock picks the blue ones from earlier, with the elements. John rips off the tag. 

“Ready, sweetheart?” John asks. 

Sherlock kicks his legs excitedly. “Yes!”

“Alright here we go,” John unzips the front. “Gimme your feet first.”

Sherlock raises his legs, John slips his feet into the footie part of the pajamas. He pulls the rest over the boy’s legs. Then, he sits Sherlock up, he’s still wearing his tshirt. So, John unclips the dummy, letting it rest in Sherlock’s lap while he pulls the shirt off. John lays the tshirt on the bed. Next, he works Sherlock’s arms through the long sleeves. 

“Ok,” John says. “Do you want to zip it up, or me?”

“Daddy do it.” Sherlock looks up at John. 

“Alright.” John reaches forward and zips it up. “There.”

“All done?” Sherlock asks. 

“Yes, all done.” John nods. “Go look in the mirror.”

Sherlock pushes himself off the bed, holding his dummy clip in his hand. He stands in the mirror, smiling at himself, rocking to and fro on his heels. 

“Like it.” Sherlock announces. 

“You like it?” John smiles too. “Good. We’ll have to tell Mycroft, won’t we?”

“Yes.” Sherlock turns to John. “What now?”

“Hm, well...” John thinks “It’s not quite dinner time...nor is it late enough for bedtime. But, you look a bit sleepy, so it might just be nap time.”

“Already had nap.” Sherlock frowns. 

“You look tired though.” John says, reaching forward to take the clip form Sherlock. 

“No, please? No nap?” Sherlock sounds really heartbroken about the whole nap idea, so John drops it. He clips the dummy to Sherlock’s pajamas and holds the dummy by its ring. 

“Fine, no naps. We’ll just cuddle on the sofa with a movie, yeah?”

“Ok.” Sherlock gives a small smile.

“But, you’re in trouble.”

“Huh?” Sherlock’s eyes widen, and it’s followed by a pathetic pout. “Sherlock’s been good.”

“He has...but, he did something very naughty.”

“What?”

“He hasn’t given Daddy kisses... _all day_.” John pretends to frown, Sherlock realizes that John’s not  _actually_  mad so he giggles, covering his mouth. All John can see are the baby’s eyes, crinkled in the corners from his grin. 

“Oops.” Sherlock says from behind his hand. 

“You’re right ‘oops’.” John nods. “Big,  _big_ ‘oops’.”

“Give Daddy kisses now?”

“You better.” 

Sherlock takes his hand from his face, and he leans forward to leave a small kiss on John’s mouth. Then, another longer one, to let John’s lips respond. When Sherlock pulls back, he and John exchange eye contact. The younger’s eyes aren’t as small anymore, and John can’t tell if he’s little or big. 

“Sherlock?” John asks, still holding the other’s eye contact.

“Yes?” The voice that responds is deep, Sherlock’s not little anymore. 

“Nothing, um...hi.” John greets him, and Sherlock nods. 

“Hi, John.”

“I haven’t seen you all day.” John comments, running his hand through his curls. “I’ve missed you.”

“You heard me, John.” Sherlock states, his eyes focusing deeply into John’s. “Even when I didn’t say anything. Even when I was deep inside myself.”

“Huh?”

“When I looked at you...earlier.” Sherlock says. “When...I was opening presents. I looked at you...I mean,  _looked_  at you. And...you  _saw_  me, John. Even when I wasn’t really there.”

“Oh...yes.” John nods. “You were far away, but I saw you. Yes.”

“That’s incredible.” Sherlock declares. “Absolutely incredible.”

“Sherlock...I always see you.” 

“That’s why...” Sherlock looks down. “Why...” Sherlock then presses his lips into a thin line.

“Why what?”

Sherlock looks back up at John, sucking in a deep breath. This usually means he’s changing the subject. “You were right, I am tired.” 

“You’re not going to tell me why?” John asks. “You’re not going to tell me what you were saying?”

“No.” Sherlock throws himself onto the bed. “If it’s alright with you, I’m going to skip the movie this time. But, could you lay with me?”

John looks at the man, who is looking back at him. He rolls his eyes, grinning. John crawls onto the bed and lays down next to Sherlock. 

“I’m sleepy, too.” John says, taking his place next to Sherlock. 

“Nap with me?”

“Yes.” John nods, letting his eyes close. Sherlock sits up and works the covers over the two of them. “Thanks.”

“Mhm.” Sherlock hums, keeping his eyes on John’s gentle face. The older man appears to be asleep already, but Sherlock knows he’s not. “John?”

“Hm?”

“Thanks.”

“For?”

“Everything, honestly.” Sherlock shrugs. “Today was interesting.”

“Yes, it was.”

“For many reasons.” 

“Yes.” John replies. It’s clear that he’s starting to wish Sherlock would shut up, so he could fall asleep. But, that only ever makes Sherlock want to talk more. 

“John?”

“Hm?” The doctor grumbles. 

“How was I today?”

“Lovely.”

“Really?” Sherlock asks. 

“Mhm.”

“How lovely?” 

John cracks his eyes open at Sherlock, with a soft glare. This pleases the younger male, who only wishes to push John’s buttons. 

“Aren’t you sleepy?” John inquires.

“Maybe.” Sherlock crinkles his nose playfully at John. 

“Then sleep.” John opens his eyes a bit more. He and Sherlock lock eyes. 

“I’ll sleep, if you’ll kiss me first.” Sherlock offers, John closes his eyes and gives a breathy laugh through his nose. When he opens them again, he’s holding his bottom lip between his teeth. He nods slowly at Sherlock. 

They both move forward, noses bumping as neither of them bother tilting their heads. Of course, they don’t mind. Their mouths meet softly, their kisses just as sleepy as they are. There’s not much pressure of their lips, they are gently brushing together if anything. 

The comforting feeling of John’s lips against his, is what finally makes Sherlock stop fighting the sleep. He lets his eyes droop completely, then shut. 

John and Sherlock have stopped attempting to kiss, and have simply just stayed in each other’s space. 

With one last sleepy movement, John picks up Sherlock’s dummy and presses it to his lips. Sherlock latches on, and they both fall asleep.


	24. Where...Sherlock?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 24-29 today!  
> Thanks for reading :)
> 
> Sorry for the wait, I was away on holiday.  
> Then I had all of this uni work and UGH, life happened...basically.  
> I'll be going back to my frequent updates after this (hopefully).  
> Because, it was a huge stress reliever.

John and Sherlock’s nap was short, but sweet. John woke up once, to Sherlock’s face pressed to his chest. The older male could feel the dampness on his shirt from Sherlock dribbling around his dummy. But, John honestly couldn’t care less. He was just happy with his baby. He kissed the boy's nest of curls, the baby twitched from the motion and his fingers opened and closed against the front of John’s shirt. He gave soft settling noises, suckled on his dummy before going back into his soft snores. 

This made John chuckle lightly, because the whole thing was entirely adorable. 

“I love you, Sherlock Holmes.” John whispered into the chestnut tendrils, then he breathed Sherlock in. “So much.” He adds. “So much, I promise.”

The baby stayed motionless and asleep. John yawned, then rejoined Sherlock in peaceful slumber. 

~*~

When John awoke again, it was dark. Night had finally fallen, he cursed under his breath, thinking about his ruined sleep schedule. He probably wouldn’t be able to properly sleep tonight, in order to wake up for work in the morning. Well, maybe he could, with Sherlock’s help. 

Speaking...of...Sherlock. John sat up with a start, the younger male wasn’t in bed. Where...Sherlock?

“Sherlock?” John called out into the quiet flat. “Sherlock?” He calls again, no answer. 

He sprang out of bed like he hadn’t been sleep-dazed moments ago. John walked quickly across the hall into the bathroom. Just because it was the closest room for him to begin his search. But, no Sherlock there. 

Next, he paced into the kitchen, again...no Sherlock. Then the living room...no Sherlock. 

“Sherlock!” John shouted. “My room, maybe he’s...why would he...?” John opens the door and bounds up to his own bedroom. He immediately checked under the bed, in the closet...anywhere. And again...no Sherlock. “Fuck, fuck...” John cursed. 

He took a few deep breaths. “Ok, ok...maybe he’s big...maybe he’s big and he went out somewhere. But, no...sweet pea, why’d you leave Daddy? I don’t...” John was surprised to find himself stuck in his own mindset. His own head space. Where he’s Sherlock’s father, where he’s really missing a child. His child is gone, he’s trying not to panic but he can’t breathe. 

“Ok...what do you do when your child is missing?” John thinks aloud. “You...call the police? Oh sure, that’d be bloody  _great_!” John says sarcastically. “‘Oh, hello Lestrade. Sherlock isn’t in the flat and I’m panicking, please help!’” He rolls his eyes. “Think, think...who’s  _like_  the police, but not Lestrade?”

John sighed when he realized who he’d have to call. “Mycroft.”


	25. Good

The phone rang twice before being answered. 

Mycroft sighed into his device. “Should I just bloody move in? You two must really miss me, Dr. Watson.” 

“Mycroft, I-”

“Two visits in one day, and a lovely phone call from Sherlock’s ‘Daddy’.”

“Ok, the two visits were  _your_  doing...but, Mycroft...this is important.”

There is a silence, and a shift in Mycroft’s slightly teasing tone, into a concerned one. 

“Is something wrong, John?”

“I can’t find Sherlock.” John says, waiting for a response from Mycroft. But, there isn’t one. “I...I don’t know where he is.”

“Isn’t that like him, to leave the flat without warning?”

“But...I don’t know if he’s little or not.” John tries to explain it so Mycroft will know that this is urgent. “We were napping together, and when I woke up...he wasn’t in the flat.”

“Do you think he’d leave the flat while he’s little?”

“I don’t think so, which is why I’m worried.”

“Someone couldn’t have taken him from your bed, correct?” Mycroft frowns. “You didn’t feel it when he got out of the bed when I came to visit this morning.”

“But, that was after a full night’s sleep.” John responds. “This was a lighter sleep...I...I dunno.”

“Have you tried calling his mobile?”

“Oh...”

“So, you haven’t then?”

“One second, I’ll text him. He prefers to text.”

“Who gives a damn what he prefers? You’re  _frightened_.”

John doesn’t reply to what Mycroft has said, he texts Sherlock. A few seconds after it sends, John hears the chime across the flat, on the coffee table. 

“Damn it.” John sighs. “He’s left-”

“Left it there?” Mycroft arches a brow. “Fine, I’ll get involved then.”

“I’m so horrible.” John mutters under his breath, wiping a hand over his face. “What kind of father am I? What kind of friend? I’ve lost him.”

“As I informed you earlier,” Mycroft rises from his seat in his office. “It’s not unlike him to leave the flat without warning.”

“He  _always_  takes his mobile, Mycroft.” John points out. “I’ve literally never seen him leave it behind.”

Mycroft is silent for a moment. "Look for clues.”

“Huh?”

“What has he left behind besides his phone?”

John’s eyes dart around the room, landing on another item. “His coat.”

“Hm...” Mycroft hums. “ _That_  is concerning.”

“See what I mean? Something...must’ve happened and-”

There’s loud a noise downstairs in Mrs. Hudson’s flat. Followed by her exclaiming. 

“Bad boy!” Mrs. Hudson says in a scolding tone. “That was very naughty!”

The sound of Sherlock’s little laughter rings out. Whatever he’d done that was naughty, he seems very pleased with himself for it. 

“John? Hello?” Mycroft speaks. “I’m about to get into one of my cars, I’ll be there in about-”

“No...no...” John says calmly. “He’s...Sherlock is fine.”

“What? I thought you’d bloody said that-”

“He’s fine, he’s here.” John clears his throat. “With, uh...Mrs. Hudson.”

“Your landlady?”

“Yes.”

“Big or small?”

“Oh, Mrs. Hudson? You’ve seen her before. She’s fairly small. But-”

“No, no, no...” Mycroft scoffs. “The baby, er...uh - Sherlock. Is he big or little?”

“Ha, oh...he’s giggling. Sounds little.”

“Let me hear him.” Mycroft’s voice is just above a whisper, the breathiness of his words make them crinkle against the microphone and into John’s ear. 

“Why?” John asks as he makes his way down the stairs. 

“I want to hear him, to know he’s alright.” Mycroft says, still speaking softly. It sounds like relief. He was more worried than he’d let on.

“Sure, one sec.” John says as he rounds the corner towards Mrs. Hudson’s flat. He stands outside the door, holding the phone against the wood, letting Mycroft listen to Sherlock loudly talking to Mrs. Hudson. After a few moments, John takes the phone and away and holds it to his ear. 

He can hear Mycroft repeating the word ‘good’. When he stops, he thanks John for letting him hear Sherlock, and he tells John goodnight, then hangs up. The doctor looks at his mobile, before pushing it into his pocket. With a deep breath, he turns the handle and opens the door. The chatter inside stops and Sherlock’s head turns to look at John, his eyes widen and his lips part.

“Daddy?”


	26. Mrs. Hudson

John closes Mrs. Hudson’s door behind him. Sherlock is sitting on the floor, surrounded by a mess of spilled dry cereal. In front of him, is a bottle of juice, and a bowl of cereal, though the bowl is overfilled and there is cereal everywhere. Maybe Sherlock tried to pour it himself, and made a mess. 

The boy is looking up at his daddy with a surprised expression, like he wasn’t expecting to see him here. But, the expression soon lights up and there is a large grin there now. 

“Daddy!” Sherlock bounces up onto his feet. He runs to John at full speed, wrapping his arms around John’s neck, jumping up so that his legs are around John’s waist. The older male is frozen, mostly because he’s surprised at the attack-hug. Also, because he’s afraid that if he moves, he’ll topple to the floor. 

Sherlock’s legs tighten around John’s waist and he giggles. “Hi, Daddy! What are you doing here?”

“I should  _certainly_  ask you the same, I nearly had a panic attack when I woke up and you were gone.” John informs his baby, reaching up to pet his curls. As John had thought, Sherlock wasn’t especially heavy. But, John was thrown off balance by Sherlock’s size it seems. The long limbs wrapped around John’s smaller ones made holding him difficult, made him seem heavier than he was. “Can you get down now, love? And tell me what’s going on? And...uh, hi...Mrs. Hudson.” John shyly glances up at her over Sherlock’s shoulder. She’s leaning in the archway with a smirk on her face. 

“Care to explain, dear?” Mrs. Hudson motions to Sherlock, who’s still wearing his footie pajamas, the dummy still clipped to his PJs. And...because he’d just called John ‘Daddy’.

“Sure...but, Sherlock has to tell me why he’s down here in the first place before that.” John folds his arms at his boy, the baby pokes his lips out in response.

Sherlock points to the bottle still sitting on the floor. “Juice.”

“You wanted juice?” John asks. “Sherlock, we have juice upstairs.”

“I know...”

“Then why’d you come down here for juice?”

“I can’t do it myself...and Daddy was sleeping.” Sherlock looks down at his feet, rocking on his heels. He’s looking shyly at John from behind his curls as he bows his head. 

“You could’ve woken me up, love.” John looks at Sherlock apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok.” Sherlock flashes a tiny smile. “Daddy not mad?”

“No, Daddy’s not mad.” John sighs. “We need a new rule though. With Mycroft this morning...and now this...”

“Oh...” Sherlock reaches down to his clip, and brings his dummy into his mouth, suckling softly as he looks at John. He’s self soothing in preparation for John’s new rule, though, he’s not aware that he’s doing it. John finds it adorable. “New rule?” Sherlock asks, ready to hear it. 

“Yes, new rule.” John nods. “No getting out of bed, without waking Daddy first. That way, I’ll always know if you’re ok.”

Sherlock looks like he’s processing his new rule. When he’s done processing, he nods. “Ok.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.” Sherlock nods, a smile is forming behind his dummy. “Kiss?”

John’s eyes flicker up to Mrs. Hudson. She’s watching Sherlock and John’s interactions. Eyes wet, a hand over her mouth, she’s clearly grinning though. 

“S-sure, Sherlock. Just a quick one.” John lets Sherlock close the space between them. The baby takes out his dummy before he touches his wet lips to John’s. It’s a quick touch of their mouths, and they say ‘mwah’ when they separate.

Sherlock gives John another smile before putting his dummy back into his mouth. Then, he toddles back to the mess on the floor. He lets the dummy fall from his lips as he brings a hand full of the dry cereal into his mouth. 

“Do you want milk for that, dear?” Mrs. Hudson asks the boy. Sherlock shakes his head. 

“Daddy says milk makes my tummy icky.” Sherlock replies. 

“Alright then, no milk.” Mrs. Hudson steps carefully over the spilled cereal and over to John. The two ‘adults’ are standing near the entrance to the flat. 

Mrs. Hudson is still grinning as they stand, looking at each other. 

“Get explaining, you.” She pokes John’s arm. “What’s going on? Why’s he even cuter than normal?”

“He’s...little, right now.” John looks over at the baby, Sherlock is alternating between snacking and drinking juice from his bottle. “When he’s in his little head space...I’m his daddy, and I take care of him as if he’s a baby. And,  _wow_  I had a way easier time saying that than I thought I would.”

“That’s... _beautiful_ , John.” Mrs. Hudson covers her mouth again, tears prickling her eyes. “Oh, dear...here I go crying again.”

“Why are you so moved by this?” John asks, wishing he had a handkerchief or tissue to give her. “You...don’t think it’s strange?”

“I used to...be a dancer, John. I’ve seen many disturbing, strange things. But...this isn’t something selfish and exploitive. This is gentle, and you’re so...very kind to him John.” She says. “In every way possible you’re there for him, and I can just feel the love and, oh...” She closes her eyes, letting tears run down her cheeks. “And, he’s just so darn cute.”

John laughs as he crosses the kitchen to the paper towels hanging above the sink. Not quite  _tissues_ , but, it’ll do. 

“Thank you, dear.” Mrs. Hudson takes it and dabs her eyes. 

The doctor turns his head to look up at his boy. “I’ll clean that mess up.”

“Oh, no..it’s fine.”

“No it’s not, just because he’s small doesn’t mean he doesn’t know better.”

“He didn’t do it on purpose.” Mrs. Hudson says.

“I thought you said he was being naughty?”

“Oh, you heard that?” She chuckles, seeming embarrassed. “He’d pushed my books from off the shelf.”

“What? Why?” John’s brow furrows as he looks over at Sherlock. 

“Dunno, but he apologized after he finished giggling like mad.” Mrs. Hudson smiles. “Stop frowning, John. He’s a baby. Babies cause mischief.”

“Yes...don’t they?” John folds his arms, keeping his eyes on Sherlock. The baby looks over his shoulder like he can sense John’s eyes. “So, you’re having a snack, love?” John approaches his boy, ruffling his curls gently. 

“Yes.” Sherlock holds up a hand, with a single piece of cereal in it, offering it to John. The older man doesn’t really want it, but he takes it anyway. 

John parts his lips and Sherlock gently pushes the cereal piece into his daddy’s mouth. His daddy nibbles the baby’s fingers playfully before they can get away and Sherlock giggles in surprise, retracting his hand quickly. Mrs. Hudson and John giggle at the boy’s reaction as well. 

“Thanks, baby.” John says as he eats the offering, and Sherlock seems pleased to have been able to feed his daddy. “How about we get this cleaned up, then go back upstairs?”

“Why?” Sherlock picks up his bottle and tips it back to drink. John takes Mrs. Hudson’s broom and begins sweeping up the spilled cereal. Dropping it into the waste bin once he’s scooped it up.

“Mrs. Hudson would probably like to get ready for bed now.” John says as he finishes cleaning up the mess. “If not bed, then she would at least to turn in for the night. It’s a little late, Sherlock.”

“No, really...it’s alright if-” Mrs. Hudson is cut off by Sherlock laying himself to the floor in a star shape, dramatically huffing. “Oh my...”

“Sherlock,” John sighs. “Finish your snack so we can let Mrs. H get some rest. Just because we’ve been lazing about all evening, and are no longer tired...it doesn’t mean that others feel the same.”

“Ugh,” Sherlock only huffed more. 

“If you go upstairs, we can...kiss.” John says the last bit quietly, ears burning as he knows Mrs. Hudson has just heard what he’d said. 

At the offer, Sherlock looks up at John, eyeing him to try and gather if John means it or not. 

“I promise, Sherlock.” John nods to his baby. “Only if you’re good though. If you’re a good boy, and you finish your snack.”

“Ok.” Sherlock sits up and begins eating his dry cereal again. 

“Also, tell Mrs. Hudson ‘thank you’ when you’re done.” John adds, taking a seat at Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen table to watch his baby while he chats with the best landlady in all of the United Kingdom. 


	27. Alarm

John was surprised that the alarm he’d set on Sherlock’s clock hadn’t woken the baby. The little boy continued to lay on his tummy, softly snoring. The older man watched his peaceful boy for about ten minutes, and groaned when he had to disturb Sherlock’s sleep. He really didn’t want to. 

“Sherlock, sweetie?” John pats the boy’s bum. “Time to get up, Daddy’s got to go to work today.”

The boy grumbles, self soothing on his dummy, trying to fall back asleep. 

“Love,” John rubs his back softly. “You can either get up and get ready with me now, or you can stay here.”

Sherlock’s eyes open at this, and he sits up. He groggily shakes his head as he looks at John. The older man smiles at him. 

“Good morning, precious boy.” John sits on the side of the bed and kisses Sherlock’s cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“Wanna sleep.” Sherlock’s eyes are barely open, and John feels bad. He wishes he could let his baby sleep. 

“I know, love...but, if you want to go with Daddy,” John smooths his curls again. “We have to start getting ready now, ok?”

Sherlock rubs his eyes, nodding as he does so. 

“Have you gone wee, yet?” John doesn’t hesitate to ask, only because hesitating would take up more time. Sherlock looks like he’s thinking, then he shakes his head. “Can you do a wee, so Daddy can change your nappy? And we can get our day started?”

Sherlock eyed John, cheeks flushing a bit. It wasn’t really that Sherlock minded... _going_  in front of John. He’d done it several times now, it’s just...John didn’t  _know_  that he was doing it when he was. It made him tense up, and he couldn’t relax his muscles to go. 

This shyness pushed him gently out of his little space. He debated just asking to use the toilet, but...he didn’t feel like it. Plus, being taken care of sounded like a far better way to start the day, rather than getting up and being big right from the start. 

John smoothed a hand over Sherlock’s frayed curls, noticing the tint of color in the boy's cheeks. “Shy now, love?”

Sherlock always disliked it when John could tell what he was thinking or feeling. He liked it better when he could have the upperhand on John.

The younger man shifted his position, sitting with his legs folded, pointer finger tracing shapes on the duvet. 

“If you want me to give you some, uh...privacy I can.” John suggests. “Or, I could help you, if you want.”

Sherlock looks up at him, brow risen. “Help? How?” His voice wasn’t too, small. But, the littleness was there for sure.

“I could help you relax.” John shrugs. “If you’d like....so you could  _go_.”

Thinking about John helping only made Sherlock feel more embarrassed. “No, I’ve...uh, got it.” Sherlock’s still little, which is...maybe a good thing. They were about to go out, and...as John remembers from last time, when they went to the grocery store, the morgue, and the crime scenes...it’s best to go out when he’s bigger. 

But, it’d be easier to get him ready to go from the flat when he was little, because John would have an easier time guiding him.

“Well, go on, then.” John gets up. “I’ll give you privacy anyway, turns out. I’m going to go check that we’ve even got clean towels. I haven’t done laundry in ages. I’ll do it tonight, probably.” He leaves the room, and Sherlock sighs with the relief of being alone now to wee. 


	28. “I’m always here.”

After John removes Sherlock’s wet nappy, John gives him a quick cleaning over his bits with the wipe. They were about to get into the shower, so it wouldn’t be a big deal if he wasn’t ‘doctorly-thorough’ this time.

Sherlock expressed his unhappiness about having to bathe this morning. He wanted to stay as he was. But, he wasn’t as clean and crisp as big Sherlock would like to be, and John was sure that Sherlock would appreciate it when he came to. And, besides...John needed a wash as well, and he didn’t see the problem in Sherlock joining him for the shower. So, John offered Sherlock to shower with him, and the boy seemed more relaxed about the whole idea. This pleased John because they really didn’t have a lot of time to spend arguing that morning, and showering together would be more efficient.

John left Sherlock nude after the nappy change, leading him to the washroom. The boy stood, shivering a tad from the sudden cold as his daddy turned the shower on, with hot water. He’d let it run for a bit before making it not too hot for the baby.

Then, he stripped himself of his own shirt, then his pajama bottoms...then, his pants. It was strange, but...he didn’t feel exposed in front of Sherlock. The boy wasn’t even looking at John’s naked form. He was suckling on his fingers and watching as the hot water steamed.

John turned the cold water dial on, letting the water take on a warm temperature, rather than the steaming hot one.

“Alright, let’s get in, lad.” John got into the shower first, then, he helped Sherlock in. The little boy looked confused to be in the bath without it being full of water.

“Where are all my toys, Daddy?” Sherlock pouts, sitting on the floor of the tub.

“We’re taking a shower, love. Those are only for baths.”

“Don’t like showers.” Sherlock announces. As he gets up from the tub's floor, the boy stands under the stream, the water soddening his curls, plastering them to his head. He rubbed his eyes as water got into them.

“Silly,” John moved him aside gently. “Don’t stand right under the shower head, then. Or, better yet...” John detached that shower head and handed it to Sherlock. “Do as you like, but let Daddy clean you.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened like he’d been given an almighty power as he held the streaming shower head. He first held it over his feet, wiggling his toes in the water. Meanwhile, John gently smoothed Sherlock’s shower gel over the baby’s chest and shoulders, under his arms and over his belly.

“Daddy,” Sherlock watches John’s hands over his abdomen.

“Yes?” John asks, taking another squirt of shower gel into his hands and applied it to Sherlock’s lower half thoroughly, gently.

“What about you?” Sherlock lets John take the shower head from him, as his Daddy begins washing away the gel. The boy giggles as some areas tickle.

“Me?” John hums. “Well, I told you...you’re my first priority, Sherlock.”

“Daddy needs love to.” Sherlock watches John fix the shower head back onto its holder above their heads, as John reaches for Sherlock’s shampoo.

“I know you love me, Sherlock. You don’t have to prove it by cleaning me up.” John chuckles softly as he puts a bit of shampoo into his hands, rubbing them together before working the product into Sherlock’s curls.

The younger male moans contently, his voice deepening as the gentle hands push him from his head space. John watches the lines in Sherlock’s face relax as he continues to lather the younger’s hair.

“Hey,” John says, using the un-soapy back of his hand to tilt Sherlock’s head a bit more upward. “Don’t bow your head too far forward, you’ll end up with shampoo in your eyes."

The detective opens his eyes a bit, to look at his John. “Hi.” He greets the doctor, a lazy smile on his face.

“Hi, love.” John responds, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to Sherlock’s mouth. Even though Sherlock’s not little right now, John says ‘mwah’ breathily anyway.

“Morning breath.” Sherlock comments, but not in an offended way. “How’s mine?” He leans forward and gives several small kisses to John. The older laughs.

“Like most other things, you have managed to excel in the ‘rank morning breath’ department as well.”

“Bad?” Sherlock chuckles.

“Awful.” John nods, even though it really isn’t. Not at all. “I missed you.”

“I’m always here.” Sherlock steps closer and wraps his arms around John, slick skin sliding against one another’s. John lets himself stay sealed up in Sherlock’s hold for a blissful moment before speaking up.

“We can’t spend too much time in the shower, Sherlock. We’ve got to get ready to go.”

“I know.” Sherlock lets him go, and John finishes what he was doing, even though Sherlock isn’t little and could wash himself. The doctor takes the shower head from its place above them, and brings it down.

“Close your eyes, yeah?” John raises an eyebrow, Sherlock nods and does as he’s told. “Turn around.” Again, Sherlock complies, tipping his head back slightly as John begins to rinse the shampoo from his curls.

“I’ll do you next.” Sherlock states, his voice sounds like he’s not going to be accepting any lip on the matter.

“Fine then.” John nods, and once the shampoo is gone from Sherlock’s hair, he hangs the shower head back up again.

“Your turn, Johnny.” Sherlock reaches for John’s shower gel and starts to lather up his body. The doctor gives a pleased groan, it’s been a while since anyone has done this for him. Sherlock seems prideful that John is letting himself be cared for, especially by him.

When John’s body was cleaned, Sherlock focused on his John’s hair. As the taller man worked the shampoo into John’s hair, they kept eye contact.

“Because you’re the person I like the most, love the most in the whole world.” Sherlock answers an unasked question.

“Hm?” John raises his eyebrows at the statement. But, his general expression remains relaxed, content.

“You were looking at me like ‘how did I get so lucky?’ and, I must tell you...that I’m the one who got lucky. Because, I love you most in the whole world.” Sherlock smiles softly at him. “We’re going to be late to your job, aren’t we?”

“Oh, fuck.” John glances at his wrist to see his watch...but he’s not wearing it. “What time is it? You have a good mental clock in your brain.”

“Later than you’d like it to be.” Sherlock takes the shower head and washes the shampoo out of John’s hair quickly so they could move on and brush their teeth.


	29. Daddy's Little Distraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 24-29 today!  
> See? I made up for my absence with a nice sized update! <3
> 
> Like always, I'll come back through and do a typo/grammar search, because I literally am the worse at editing my own work. Plus, I'm pretty sure my English is slowly self destructing. 
> 
> Thanks for stopping by my fic, though! :)

John is dashing about the flat, they’re not too far behind their schedule but he doesn’t want to slow down because then they  _will_  be late. He’d made Sherlock a bottle of formula to nurse while he packed up some things for Sherlock. 

Even though Sherlock wasn’t feeling very small, the warm formula was calming. It almost made him want to go to sleep again. 

“Alright,” John sighs, sitting down on the couch next to Sherlock. The younger male lays himself across John’s lap when the older sits. “We’re going to leave in about ten minutes, alright?”

Sherlock nods. 

“Can I check your nappy? Do you think you’ll need to go soon?” John checks Sherlock’s nappy, it’s dry. 

Sherlock shakes his head. 

“So you’ll be alright?” John asks, Sherlock nods. “Alright, good. Finish up your bottle, then we’ll get going.” 

~*~

“But I don’t know  _how_ , John.” Sherlock walks alongside the doctor. “It’s like...I can get into my little space, but I can’t slip in completely. Like, ‘big me’ is always ready to pop in like an unwanted guest.”

“How do we stop that?” 

“Do we  _want_  to stop it?”

“I dunno,” John shrugs. “Do we? Yesterday you stayed in your headspace for quite some time, and there weren’t any major problems.”

“Well, I’m not sure if being completely slipped into little space would be good.” Sherlock shrugs. “What if you need to get ‘big me’ out, but I’m submerged in my little space and I’m unreachable?”

“What if we had a safe word?”

“Huh?”

“Like, I say something and it pulls you from your little space.”

“You mean like during hypnosis when the hypnotized person hears the fingers snap and they ‘wake up’?”

“Something like that.” John nods. “If it’s possible that someone can get into a completely different headspace...and be brought out by the snap of the fingers. Couldn’t you slip into your headspace and come out when I say something?”

“You're not a master of hypnotism, John.” Sherlock jogs forward in order to hold the door open for John. 

“Oh, uh...thanks.” John steps inside the door and Sherlock walks in behind him. 

“Yes,” Sherlock responds. “Anyway, John...do you really think having a safe word would work?”

“It works during BDSM.” John comments quickly without meaning to. “Well, I assume, anyway.”

“John Hamish Watson, I’m _horribly_ surprised at you.” Sherlock comments teasingly, but also in bewilderment. “You’ve partaken in-”

“No,  _no_.” John shows his ID to the staff as he crosses into the ward he works in. “It’s not what you think.”

“Hm,” Sherlock hums smugly. “I’m a man with a keen sense for deduction, I’m hardly incorrect.”

“There’s nothing to deduce. My words just came out wrong, and you’re assuming now that I’m some sex maniac.” 

“I’ll let it slide, you can keep this secret.” Sherlock says, bowing out of the almost argument.

“Thank you.” John sighs as he waves at Sarah, passing her by to go into the office with Sherlock. “Now, you sit here.” He pats the chair sitting in front of the desk, the one behind the desk is where John will sit when he’s not with a patient. “There are obviously going to be some rules.”

“I know.” Sherlock says, his voice getting smaller already as John gets stern with him. 

“First off, you can’t leave this office without asking me.” John folds his arms. “That is  _very_  important, understand?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Next, don’t mess with anything on the desk. These are all only for the eyes of hospital staff. Like doctors and nurses.”

John takes his backpack off of his back. “If you would really rather go potty, than in your nappy, text me and I’ll come to take you, unless I’m working. Then you can go by yourself. You have on a special ‘visitors’ pass so they shouldn’t stop you when you’re in the halls.”

“Ok,”

“In this backpack are your laptop, toys, books, dummies and nappy supplies.” John says. “So, everything you might need.”

“Yay!” Sherlock grins, slipping further into his little space. 

“Oh, there’s some snacks and juice in here as well.” John hands the bag over to Sherlock. “I’ll bring in lunch for us when it’s time...I think that’s it.”

“That’s it.” Sherlock’s little voice repeats and he nods. 

“So, you’ll be alright while Daddy works? I’ll come in every once in a while.” John tells him. “No one else should come in, they usually all knock first should they need to. That’ll give you time to take out your dummy, if you have it in.”

“Alright.”

“Um...oh, and-”

“John.” Sherlock’s normal voice comes out and he folds his arms. “Go work, I’ll be fine. It’s a miracle enough that you were able to bring me along. No need in worrying further. I’ll be right here, not all the way back in 221B...alone.”

“Ok, ok. I know, but...” John eyes Sherlock. “I’m allowed to worry.”

“That you are.” Sherlock nods, shifting his weight in his seat. John can hear his nappy crinkle, it reminds him that he has a little boy that he much rather be taking care of. “What?” Sherlock sees John’s worrying eyes on him. 

“I should call in sick.” John says, this makes Sherlock laugh. 

“They just saw you bloody walk in, smiles and all.” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “I think it’s too late for that.”

“I could’ve fallen ill after arriving, stranger things have happened.”

“Yeah, stranger things. Like calling in sick to stay home and nappy your flatmate.” Sherlock smiles softly at John. “Go to work.”

“Ughhh,” John folds his arms. “Just...be careful.”

“I will.”

“Don’t make a mess.”

“I won’t.”

“Also, there are-”

“John.” Sherlock gives him a firm glare. “Go to work. Or, I’ll leave.”

“Leave?”

“Go back to the flat, or something. I’m proving to be quite the distraction.”

“No, no!” John shakes his head and points a finger at him. “Besides, you promised. You promised that we could try this and see how it works.”

“Well, in order to  _try_  it, we have to actually  _do_  it.” Sherlock says. “Yet, you’ve been standing here forever just trying to say goodbye.”

“I know...it’s hard.”

“John, I know it’s hard. But we’re trying to find a balance.”

“Yeah...”

“It’ll take a while, but we’ll get it.” Sherlock reaches his arms out and makes grabby hands at John. “Come give us a kiss, then go to work.”

“Fine, fine.” John crosses the office to Sherlock and takes his face in his hands. “Love you, bug.”

“Love you, more.”

“Nope.” John presses their lips together. 

“I’d like to think so.” Sherlock lets John release him and he immediately digs into the backpack. John watches as Sherlock selects a book. The younger man brings his feet onto his chair and begins reading, it’s a chapter book and Sherlock is in the middle of it. John had bought it for Sherlock, for his birthday. He’d packed it in there amongst the children’s books because he thought maybe he’d like some adult things incase he wasn’t feeling particularly little. 

John continues to watch for a few moments, before Sherlock’s eyes flicker up to him. 

“Am I going to have to literally shove you out of here?” Sherlock asks, brow risen. 

“No, no. I’m sorry. I’m going, ok bye.” John flees and Sherlock chuckles and rolls his eyes, reaching into the backpack and retrieving his dummy before continuing his book. 


	30. Come Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 30-33 today. 
> 
> My brain has been fried by uni work, and I'm sorry for lame update! I'll have free time soon (my classes end soon and I'll be a writing machine!) and I'll write better stuff! You know...when my brain isn't completely drained.
> 
> See ya soon :)  
> Thanks for reading <3

Sherlock had been minding his own business for a couple hours now. He’s finished the book, and he’s contemplating reading it again. He wasn’t feeling all the way little, but the intense feeling of missing John while he was big made him  _want_  to be little. He’d have an easier time handling the emotions if he was small. As an adult, he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do when he missed someone. Not this badly. Was it alright to cry?

He stilled his body and waited for the tears to flood from him, but nothing happened. Sherlock felt the pressure in his chest, the kind that would force out a sob...if he had a sob to force out. The tears weren’t coming. His body had automatically taken the tears, and locked them away in his mind palace, as he’d train it to do long ago. 

_Damn it, me._ Sherlock thought as he sat in the chair at the desk where John had left him that morning. He looked around the office. He hadn’t moved from that spot, and he was feeling a bit stiff. Back at the flat, little Sherlock was far more active. Always on the move, toddling or crawling somewhere. 

Maybe...he could be little. He used to make himself slip, alone. Before John found out. But...how did he use to do it?

He gets up off of the chair and stands in the center of the office. When he’d first entered, he became little when John started giving his rules. The office seemed bigger then, but standing here now...it felt small. And that only made him feel bigger. 

Sherlock gets down onto the floor. From down here, the room feels larger, he feels much smaller. He pulls the backpack towards him, retrieving his owl. Hugging it to his chest, burying his nose into it, smelling the scents of home. He feels smaller. Next, he takes his dummy from his pocket and into his mouth, closing his eyes as it begins to soothe him. 

This... _this_ , he feels so small. He feels the mental  _release_  of him slipping into his little headspace. 

“Dada...want Dada.” Sherlock’s little voice says into the open and empty space. He feels so alone. “Dada...” Sherlock’s eyes get teary, he feels the pressure in his chest again. The one that would let him cry if he needed to. 

The dam crumbles apart and he begins to cry. It’s a pathetic cry, not much energy put into it. He knows he can’t cry very loudly in case someone might hear him. But, it takes the emotions, the stress anyway. The fat tears rolling down his cheeks. The heart breaking pain of missing John, all spilling from him. 

He brings his knees to his chest, resting his chin there, owl clutched in his hands.  “Dada come back...please?”


	31. Be Patient

Sherlock was being little on his own for a while, not too long though. He’d finished crying and was very calm now. When he get a text message, it was from John. 

**_How are you holding up, sweet pea?_ **

Sherlock read it again and again, smiling at the end every single time. His mind set was limboing in between at the moment. 

**_Miss you. -SH_ **

Is all that Sherlock could manage. He wasn't sure how to address John as he limboed, especially through text messages. 

**_I miss you too, sweetheart. Maybe...in about ten minutes or less, I’ll be out of here for my lunch break. Then I’ll run to the cafeteria and get us food. And, we can be together for a little while._ **

Sherlock’s eyes scanned the message a few times before he replies. 

**_Want to kiss you. -SH_ **

The detective waited patiently for John’s response, when it came Sherlock eagerly read it. 

**_I want to kiss you too, always._ **

Sherlock typed back.  ** _Do you miss me, John? -SH_**

**_Of course I do._** John’s reply came quickly. 

**_Big me, or little me? -SH_ **

John’s text message shook Sherlock’s mobile.  ** _All of you, Sherlock. I love all of you and when I’m gone, I miss all of you too. You silly sausage._**

Sherlock felt a woosh of emotions sweep over him, he chewed his bottom lip as he typed.  ** _Come back to me soon, John. -SH_**

**_It’s strange,_** John types.  ** _Even with you right down the hall, I feel like you couldn’t be farther away._**

Sherlock agrees.  ** _Maybe it’s because, even when you’re here, you’re never close enough. -SH_**

Another text from John.  ** _Yeah, sounds about right._**

The younger male rolls his eyes. **_Why do you have enough time to text, but you can’t come see me? -SH_**

John rolls his eyes as well.  ** _Waiting for a man to urinate in a cup, if you must know._**

Sherlock chuckles. **_Oh, thrilling. -SH_**

The doctor laughs too.  ** _Tell me about it, lol. Speaking of...that. Nappy status?_**

Sherlock leans his back against the wall as he responds.  ** _Dry, kind of need to *go*. -SH_**

John’s brow furrows as he types back. ** _You probably shouldn’t hold it. I know I said I could maybe be there soon, but don’t try to wait. Either go to the loo, or just use your nappy. I don’t want you to harm yourself._**

It was Sherlock’s turn to furrow his brow. They’ve been mirroring each other’s expressions without knowing it.  ** _Don’t want to, though. I can hear all the people in the waiting room from here. Too many people. And, I said *kind of*, so I can wait. -SH_**

John chuckles and rolls his eyes again.  ** _You really are a big baby, you know that?_**

Sherlock gives a breathy laugh as he responds.  ** _I’m *your* big baby. -SH_**

John looks up as he hears feet coming towards the door, he types quickly.  ** _You always will be, Sherlock. Gotta go, be there soon as I can. Don’t hold your pee, it’s not good for you. TTFN_**

Sherlock read the message, focusing on the first bit, groaning at the rest of it. He felt better, having talked to John now. Still, he missed him. Of course he missed him. He was  _his_  John. 

And, his John would be here soon enough. He just had to be patient. 

He just had to wait. 


	32. Birds & Butterflies

John hurried down the halls until he reached the office. The doctor stopped outside of the door to listen. He heard movement inside, not much else. He rose a hand and knocked on the door. “Sherlock? It’s me.” He says and the movement stops. “I’m coming in, alright?”

“Ok.” Is the response, voice little. 

John opens the door and peeks his head in, before stepping all the way inside and closing the door behind him. Sherlock is sitting on the floor, blocks in neat rows in front of him. Rather than  _actually_  build anything, Sherlock enjoys trying to beat his time of scrambling the blocks up then putting them back in order again of. Back into ‘order’ means lining them up by size and kind. He’s really was pretty fast at doing it. But, he didn’t always do this, sometimes he’ll build a structure or two.

Besides his blocks, to Sherlock’s other side, he had his small container of snacks. The container is half empty. 

“Are you enjoying yourself?” John bends down to kiss the boy’s forehead. 

“Yes,” Sherlock nods, lispy from behind his dummy. “Missed Daddy.” 

“I missed you too, love.” John says, sitting on the floor beside his boy. “I know this might not be very exciting, or too much fun. But, I appreciate it that you’re giving it a try.”

“I like it.” Sherlock garbles around his dummy. 

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Would you rather be home?”

“Yes, with Daddy.”

“I thought so.” John sighs. “Me too, baby. But, we had a few days of at home ‘little time’ and we’re very lucky to have had it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And, if we’re even more lucky, I don’t work tomorrow. So, we can have that day to ourselves as well.” John says. “We might get called in for a case though.”

“Yucky.” Sherlock commented.

“You’ll have fun.” John smiles at his boy. “Are you getting hungry for lunch, yet?”

“Kind of.” Sherlock sighed, he didn’t feel very little...he felt like he was trying. That means he wasn’t very much into the headspace anyway. “John.” He takes his dummy from his mouth. “I want to be big.”

“Oh?” John shrugs his shoulders. “Alright, then be big.” He holds his hands palms up, raises them nonchalantly. “I don’t care either way, you know that. I don’t mind if you switch.”

“But, I feel conflicted.” Sherlock admits. 

“About what?”

“I want to...snuggle with you, and kiss you and be yours...but  _big_.”

“Oh...” John blushes. “I see.”

“Yeah,” Sherlock sighs. “I haven’t felt this way before, and...I might be sick.”

“Calm down, you dramatic idiot.” The doctor rolls his eyes. “There is nothing wrong with you.”

“But...I feel funny in my stomach.”

“Butterflies.” John states. 

“What?”

“You’re not getting sick, it’s-” There was a knock on the door. Sherlock jammed his dummy into his pocket, looked down at the blocks in front of him. That wasn’t a very telltale sign of littleness. It could be a part of his ‘project’ that John’s told Sarah he was working on. 

“Yes?” John called to the person on the other side of the door. 

“Hi, yes.” It was Sarah. “You’ve forgotten a signature on one of Mr. Ford’s documents.”

“My apologies, I’ll do that now, then.” John opens the door and Sarah comes in halfway, clearly only to get a look at Sherlock. She’s always been curious about him, as a person. She knew of he and John’s exciting crime chasing life. And, though it’d been too much for her, she admired them both for their bravery and their skills. 

“Hello, Sherlock.” She waved. Sherlock simply flicked his chin up at her, in recognition. He didn’t really want to talk, nor be rude. But, he didn’t really care too much about the rudeness. Everyone found him rude anyway, even when he wasn’t trying to be. 

John signed some papers on a clipboard before returning it to Sarah. 

“Were you about to take lunch?” Sarah asks John. He nods. 

“Yeah.” John smiles, flashing his teeth. 

_God, he’s so charming. Stupid John._ Sherlock thinks. 

“Would you like to eat together?” She asks, it sounds friendly enough but Sherlock wasn’t sold that this was primarily friendly. The way she gravitated closer when she spoke. 

_Stupid John._

“Oh, I was going to eat in here with Sherlock. You can go on though.” John smiles a bit apologetically. 

_That’s right, get out._  Sherlock can’t help the small smirk on his face, so he turns away and pretends to be suddenly interested with something on his mobile. 

“Ah, alright then.” Sarah nods at the two of them, before leaving the office. 

When she’s gone, John turns to Sherlock. 

“So, what would you like to-” John’s cut off by Sherlock huffing loudly. 

“You  _flirt_ , John.” Sherlock’s tone is scolding. 

“I didn’t-”

“You know she was flirting with you, you should’ve dismissed her more quickly. She’ll think you’re interested if you don’t.” Sherlock folds his arms.

“Why do you care?” John asks, though he knows the answer.

Sherlock only glares at him.

“Fine, fine.” John sighs. “Sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m not interested in her.” John says. “For the record.”

“But, your prick is.” Sherlock stands up and approaches John. “Hug?”

John smiles softly. “Please?”

They embrace, Sherlock resting his chin atop John’s head. 

“That hurt me...” The detective admits in a soft voice, not at all like Little Sherlock’s, but it wasn’t a very full voice. It was barely there. 

“What did?”

“When...she looked at you.” Sherlock closes his eyes. “When she looked at you like she might take you from me.”

“She really didn’t give me a  _look_ , Sherlock.”

“You only  _see_  John.” Sherlock shakes his head. “You don’t observe.”

“I could tell if she was hardcore flirting or not.” John retorts. “Sarah and I are done with.”

“Why do you have to be so lovely all the time? Why can’t you be absolute rubbish? And scare all the birds away.”

“Birds.” John scoffs. “Never thought I’d hear you say that.”

“Well you have.” Sherlock declares. “Why do I want you to myself?” 

“Because you already  _do_  have me for yourself, and you want it to stay that way.” John rubs gentle circles on Sherlock’s back. “You don’t have anything to worry about, you know.”

“Because you’re stuck with me?”

“In the most brilliant of ways, yes.” John steps away from Sherlock. “Now, I don’t have a thousand years to lunch with you, unfortunately.”

“I know.”

“So, I’m going to go get our food now.” John rubs his hands together. “What do you want to eat?”

“A sandwich would be fine. Some crisps, maybe.”

“Since when do you eat crisps?” John raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, shut up.” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Am I too high and mighty for crisps?”

“No...just surprised is all.”

“Well, don’t be. I’ve shared your crisps while we watched crap telly before.”

“Hm...” John shrugs. “True and -- oh! Your nappy...did you...?”

“No.” Sherlock shakes his head. “I was hoping you could drop me by the loo on your way to get us lunch.”

“Sure, let’s go.”


	33. Just a Test

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 30-33 today, everyone!
> 
> I'll be more up to speed after my uni classes end for the semester. Thanks for tolerating what I've done so far!  
> Your support has been incredible. 
> 
> -TJL <3
> 
> PS: Oh, and I'll also go back through for typos soon! Going to go visit someone right now. Ok, bye :)

Feeding himself felt funny. He wanted John to feed him, but...he didn’t want to be little. Sherlock’s brain felt foggy. He wanted John to give him things, that he felt should only be for little time. Like being held and cuddled. 

John however, was amused. It seemed that Sherlock wasn’t aware that adults could hold each other as well. That cuddling up to someone that you fancied was completely normal, healthy even. A rather enjoyable experience. 

But, when John tried explaining that to him, Sherlock just waved it off. 

“Nonsense.” Sherlock declared. “Adults cuddle when they’re  _courting_  and such. We aren’t like  _that_ , John.”

“Mhm.” John propped his chin up on his palm as he watched Sherlock messily eating his lunch. His feeding skills still suffering from littleness. He had quite a messy face. John isn’t sure how Sherlock could mess up feeding himself a  _sandwich_ , but Sherlock could do anything it seems. 

Even fail to realize his feelings for John. Sherlock was right though. They weren’t ‘like that’. Not exactly your normal couple, and not just because of the little time. Spending all night staking out a criminal, or examining corpses together. Not your average date, but hell...it was their kind of fun. 

John hadn’t really considered his... _feelings_  for Sherlock, not until recently. Not until the night in the kitchen, with Sherlock’s arms around him. His heart wouldn’t calm at all, he couldn’t help the overwhelming feelings. When he’d asked Sherlock what they were, it was clear that Sherlock wasn’t on the same page, so John dropped it. 

He didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about it, because he wanted to keep himself mostly neutral, to simplify their already complicated situation, little time included in this bit. 

On some other infantilism blogs he’d found himself reading, he noticed that it wasn’t very uncommon for someone’s significant other to be the little’s mummy or daddy. In fact, it seems to be  _preferred_ because of the level of trust the two people already share. Though, some people have mentioned that the little time has been too strange for the other, and had driven the significant other away. 

John was glad that he and Sherlock wouldn’t have to worry about that. They both enjoyed it very much. But, John was concerned about ‘big’ Sherlock. 

Sherlock already didn’t understand the feelings he was having for John, That meant, it would take him a while to understand completely. John would have to wait...or try to help him understand. But, Sherlock liked to figure things out on his own. John wondered how long it would take until he realized, or if he ever would. 

“Your face is a mess, you know.” John comments before sipping his water.

Sherlock looked down as if he would see it for himself, but he then realized that he couldn’t see his own face. He giggled, he must be little. John had been so caught up in thought, that he hadn’t noticed the switch. 

“Oh.” Little Sherlock says, looking up at John. “Daddy help?”

John’s heart warmed, he’d missed his little boy so much. “Yes, love.”

“Thank you.” Sherlock responds, voice very adorable and small. John wonders what made Sherlock suddenly feel small. He’d been so insistent on being big before they’d gone to get their food. Maybe that’s why Sherlock had been eating so messily, because he was little. 

John holds Sherlock’s jaw gently as he cleans the baby’s cheeks and his chin. Before John wipes the boy’s hands, he leans down to drop a chaste kiss to Sherlock’s lips. The baby giggles into John’s mouth as their lips meet. 

“Daddy,” Sherlock says softly against John’s mouth. “I like kisses.”

“I know, bug.” John gives the baby another sweet kiss, they say ‘mwah’ as they part.

“More?”

“Let me get those hands, first.” John begins wiping the boy’s hands. 

When’s he’s done, he tosses the napkin into the waste bin. 

“Show Daddy your hands.” John smiles, sitting on the desk in front of Sherlock. The boy looks down at his own hands before holding them up to John. “Whoa, they’re so clean!” John exclaims, holding them close to his face. “I think I can see my reflection in them.”

“Daddy...” Sherlock giggles and takes his hands away. “No you can’t.” Sherlock tries to discretely look at his hands again, just to make sure that John was indeed lying. Because, well...it’d be darn cool to see his reflection in his hands. 

“You can’t see yourself in em?” John looks surprised. “Maybe it’s just a daddy thing.”

“Huh?” Sherlock looks caught off guard. 

“Maybe only Daddy can see the reflection.”

Sherlock is quiet, debating everything he’s ever known about factual happenings. And now, he’s doubting all he knows. If what John says is true, who knows how many things he’s been missing out on because only daddies can see them?

John chuckles at Sherlock insanely deep, contemplative expression. He’d really thrown Little Sherlock for a loop, it seems. 

“Hey,” John taps his foot to Sherlock’s leg. 

“Hm?” The boy looks up. 

“I thought you wanted more kisses?” John asks, trying to distract the overly contemplative baby.

“Oh,” Sherlock pops up to his feet, because John’s sitting on the desk and he can’t reach his lips from his seat. “I do!”

“You don’t have to stand up.” John shakes his head. “I was going to-”

Sherlock brings their mouths together eagerly. John can feel that Sherlock is smiling, he is too. They pull back and look at each other, another chorused ‘mwah’ is exchanged. 

“I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you, too.” John nods, running his hand over the boy’s curls. “Thank you for coming with me today.”

“Yes.” Sherlock stays standing, face inches from John’s. 

“Next time, if you don’t want to...maybe Mrs. Hudson or Mycroft could stay with you in the flat.” John says the words slowly as not to upset the baby, it doesn’t work though. 

“Daddy doesn’t want me to come to work anymore?” Sherlock frowns. 

“It’s not that.” John shakes his head. “One, I don’t know if they’d mind if I keep bringing you here. Having an ‘outsider’ around all of these important patient documentations makes them reasonably nervous.”

“Oh...” Sherlock seems to get even smaller at that. “But, Sherlock won’t touch anything. Sherlock won’t even look.” The baby replies. 

“I know,” John leans forward to kiss his pouted mouth. “I trust you, Daddy trusts you very much.”

“It’s stupid Sarah’s fault.” Sherlock frowns. 

“Hey, that’s not nice.” John frowns too. 

“She doesn’t trust Sherlock.” 

“It’s got nothing to do with her.” John insists. Though, she probably is cautious of Sherlock being around the documentation, giving the trouble he often seems to get into with shady people because of his detective career. 

That’s not fair though. If she was to be cautious of Sherlock, she should be cautious of John as well. Because, John’s always by Sherlock’s side during all of the cases. Hm, well...maybe she  _is_  cautious of him as well. Who knows?

“Stupid Sarah.” Sherlock repeats and begins playing with John’s tie. 

“What did I say about that?” John’s voice firms in its tone. 

Sherlock’s bright colored eyes focus up into John’s. “Not nice.”

“Right, not nice.” John gives the boy warning glare. “And, you shan’t say it again.”

“But it’s true.”

“Do you want to be in trouble? There’s a lovely corner over there that you can sit in.” John points. “Is that where you want to be?”

Sherlock doesn’t say anything, just keeps his hold on John’s tie, keeps his eyes focused into John’s. His expression is neutral. Though, John believes that there is a small tug of a smirk in the corner of his mouth. The boy was  _definitely_ testing John. 

“Answer me, Sherlock.” John takes his tie away from the boy. Sherlock whines and grasps it again. “ _Sherlock_ , now.”

“No.” Sherlock says softly. 

“No what?” 

“I don’t want trouble, Daddy.” Sherlock tilts his head slightly, keeping eye contact with John. “Kiss?”

John doesn’t know if Sherlock quite deserved one, and he folds his arms. The doctor gives an indecisive groan. 

“Kiss anyway.” Sherlock leans forward, John doesn’t move away. The older male is surprised though, when Sherlock’s kiss is hard. It’s still quite chaste, but it feels as if Sherlock is declaring something with it. As if he’d tested John, and John didn’t falter. The kiss read ‘ **You win this one** ’. 

Sherlock said ‘mwah’ on his own this time. John hadn’t said it with him, nor had John returned Sherlock’s kiss. The boy finally let his full smirk show as he sat back down. 

John wasn’t sure what to say or do next. He wasn’t sure how to call Sherlock out on his bullshit when he was little. It was much easier to do when Sherlock was big, he could just call him a git, or an arsehole. 

“You’re pleased with yourself then, yeah?” John lets that be enough. 

Sherlock just leaned back in the seat, smirking. He was still little, but Big Sherlock was definitely poking through, now. 

John glanced at his watch. “I gotta get out of here soon, back to work.”

“How long before we go home, Daddy?”

“A few hours, maybe less.” John supposes, with a slight shrug. 

“I want less.”

“Me too.” 


	34. Confused

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey sweeties, chapters 34-41 :)
> 
> Sorry for the wait, stress and things. 
> 
> Hopefully I'll pass all my classes. If not, I'll live on the streets.  
> Telling tales of Johnlock in return for pennies and other loose change. 
> 
> Ignore me, I love you all.  
> Thanks for reading XD <3
> 
>  
> 
> I'll go check recheck for typos soon.  
> PS: WARNING, there are two chapters that contain non-graphic NSFW. At the beginning of the chapters, I put warnings in the notes. Please pay attention to the notes, if you don't want to read the NSFW.
> 
> (There's no sex, no touching, no anything, they just kiss and it gets a bit steamy, don't worry. This is still non-sexual infantilism)

When John came to collect Sherlock at the end of the day, the younger male was horrible. He was grumpy, groany, moany, whiney, and wouldn’t listen to John at all. He ignored every attempt John made to comfort him, and walked briskly ahead of John as they exited the hospital. Leaving the older of the two to jog behind Sherlock’s long strides. John’s short legs could barely keep up, as he carried the backpack with Sherlock’s things on his back. 

“What is the matter with you, Sherlock?” John pants, not so much because he’s out of shape. No, he’s usually quite good at keeping up with Sherlock. But, he’s out of breath because he’s been rambling nonstop, trying to figure out whats wrong with Sherlock. 

The brunette just remained silent the entire time, hailing a cab and getting in, giving the cabbie their destination. John gets in, still asking questions. 

“Is it because of earlier? The ‘stupid Sarah’ thing?” John tries, no reply. “Or...is your tummy hurting? There wasn’t any cheese or mayo on the sandwich...it shouldn’t have upset it.” John thinks. “Hmm...is it because you got so bored in the office?”

“Stop, John.” Sherlock looks out the window. 

“I can’t stop, have you seen the look on your face?” John asks. “You look like you’re about to explode.”

“And I  _will_  if you don’t stop asking questions.”

“I much preferred you throwing tantrums as we packed up to leave, rather than this quiet ‘look at me, I’m Sherlock and I’m moody so I’m shutting out the world’ deal.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Then help me understand, Sherlock.  _Blimey_.” John leans back in his seat with a huff. “We’ve been through this before. I can’t help you, if you don’t let me.”

“I’m just so...confused right now.”

“About?”

“I don’t want to be little, but I keep slipping.” Sherlock says, not caring if the cabbie overhears. “I  _want_ to be little, but then I miss being big. And then, when I’m big, I have confusing feelings, so then I prefer to be little to avoid them. But,  _then_  I have to be big for cases and I can’t focus, because I keep ending up thinking about you.”

John blinks a few time. 

“And when I think about you, I get those weird feelings.” Sherlock sighs. “And, not only do I get those weird feelings when I think about you, but I  _also_  get the urge to be little when I’m supposed to be being big, because you’re my...you make me feel so safe and...” Sherlock stops his long frustrated ramble.

Again, John blinks as the air settles. “What...weird feelings?” John looks down at his hands. Though, he’s pretty sure he knows what Sherlock means when he says it. 

Sherlock does nothing for a moment, but then, he unbuttons his coat, along with the first few buttons of his collared shirt. When the buttons are undone, he takes John’s wrist.

“What are you-” John’s question is cut off when Sherlock presses John’s hand to the firm plane of his chest. Underneath Sherlock’s porcelain skin, John feels the flutter of the vibrant alive muscle in his chest. Sherlock’s heart rate is risen more than normal. 

“Every time, John.” Sherlock takes John’s hand away, releasing it once it’s out of his shirt. 

John looks down at his hand, as if touching it over Sherlock’s heart had newly baptized it, or changed it some how. “Every time what?” John asks.

“Every time I look at you...well,” Sherlock re-buttons his shirt. “Not  _every_  single time...but it happens more and more often recently. Sometimes I look at you, and my entire chemistry changes. Like, just looking at you...what’s the word?  _Intoxicates_...me. Is that the word I want? Something...something...” Sherlock closes his eyes as he buttons his Jacket back into place, of course, turning his collar up as well. 

“Sherlock...”

“Not now, John.” Sherlock holds up a hand to silence him, his eyes remaining closed. “I’m thinking.” 

John looks at the beautiful idiot next to him, then sighs. He sits in silence for the remainder of their ride. 


	35. Violinist's Twist

In the flat, there was no difference. Sherlock was still on edge, moody from his unsure state of mind. However, John wasn’t in the mood to deal with it. He ignored Sherlock’s ill spirits completely, and spoke to him as if he would talk back. 

“The weather has been pretty decent lately.” John comments aloud from the kitchen, he’s doing the dishes. It’s a few bowls, plates and then Sherlock’s little things. Plastic colorful items that make John miss his baby. He sighs and continues washing them. 

Sherlock is pacing in the living room, muttering to himself every so often. 

“I’m feeling kind of bored,” John announces. “Tomorrow we aren’t staying in the flat, whether you’re big or not. We’re going-”

“Oh,” Sherlock stops pacing and turns to him. “We _are_ going out tomorrow, you’re right.”

“I’m...right?” John hadn’t expected that. 

“Yes, there is somewhere I’d like to go.” Sherlock nods, holding his hands behind his back. “If I’m still little by noon tomorrow, force me to be big and get me dressed.”

“Um, well...alright.” John’s brow furrows. “Where are we going?”

Sherlock enters the kitchen, making his way to the fridge. Held up by a magnet, there is a piece of paper on the door of the refrigerator. John dries his hands and passes Sherlock to get a look at it. He squints a bit in confusion, it’s just an address. 

“Where the hell is that?” The doctor looks at the paper for a bit longer. “That’s got to be bloody _way_ out of town.”

“Lovely deduction, John.” Sherlock’s tone is hovering between sarcastic and approving. John rolls his eyes. 

“Must you be so _mysterious_ all the time?” John turns to the younger man as Sherlock exits the kitchen and back into the living room. “Can’t you just tell me where the address goes?”

“The address doesn’t _go_ anywhere, John. It’s quite stationary, actually.” Sherlock corrects him. “Word that sentence better, and maybe I’ll answer.”

“Ugh, you’re impossible.” John watches Sherlock pick up his violin. “Where _is_ the address, Sherlock?”

“ _That_ , John,” Sherlock smirks. “Is the right question.” He picks up his bow. 

“So, tell me?”

“I said ‘ _maybe_ ’, didn’t I?” Sherlock’s smirk remains as he holds his violin under his chin. He turns away from John and looks out the window as he begins to play. 

John can’t help but listen to the skillful playing as he continues with the dishes. But, as Sherlock plays John finds himself humming along. That’s when the older male realizes that, not only has he heard this song before, but it’s not classical. It’s...not really a _modern_ song. It’s from the 70s or 80s, and it’s been a while since John’s heard it. However, he _was_ humming it the other day while he changed Sherlock’s nappy. 

_Sherlock had paid attention to that?_ John thinks, a small smile creeping onto his face. He listened to Sherlock’s violinist twist on the song, grinning wider when he can tell Sherlock’s getting lost in the music. When John turns his head to look into the living room, he sees Sherlock’s body swaying smoothly, eyes closed. The fluid way his body moved was beautiful. But, also very... _attractive_. 

The older male shakes his head. 

_No, no, no. None of those thoughts._ John scolds himself and turns back to his dishes. There was only one sippy-cup left to wash, and he was going to focus on it until Sherlock was done playing. So, John washed the plastic cup very, _very_ slowly. When John was finished with that cup, it had to be the cleanest sippy-cup in all of Europe. 

However, when John finished washing the cup, Sherlock was still playing. But, this song was a classical one. John couldn’t possibly tell you _what_ song it was, but he knew it very well. And, John didn’t mind watching him play this one. His movements weren’t as quick and exciting, they were slower. Just as fluid, though.

John sits on the sofa, leaning back and focusing on the musical detective. 

Sherlock’s bright eyes opened suddenly and stared into John’s. The doctor shifted a bit on the sofa. The brunette stops playing and his eyes flicker to the floor before back up John. 

“Aw, I wanted to watch you play.” John says.

“Why were you looking at me like that?” Sherlock ignores John’s disappointment, his tone almost flat as he asks John the question. John couldn’t tell if he was asking because he was bothered by...however John was looking.  Or if he was just curious.

“H-how was I looking? Or, when do you mean?” John is a bit flustered by the question. “I was just watching you play.”

“When I was playing the song you’d shared with me the other day.” Sherlock says. “You looked at me...in a way I haven’t seen you look at me before.”

“Oh...” John clears his throat, he hadn’t known Sherlock had seen him. His eyes were closed when John was looking before. “I was just surprised that you weren’t playing a classical, is all.”

Sherlock’s eyes go away from John again for a moment as he processes that response. “Do you mean that?”

“Yes.”

“That’s all it was?” 

“Yes, Sherlock.” John nods, though he’s lying. “That’s it.”

The younger is quiet for a moment before he sighs. 

“It’s happening again, John.”

“Huh? What is?” John’s brow furrows. 

“I want you to hold me.” Sherlock admits, his eyes still not looking at John. The older of the two shifts a bit again. 

“Come here, then.” John offers, but he’s sure that Sherlock will say ‘no’.

Sherlock eyes him before putting the violin away. Then, he turns to John. 

“I can’t do that, John.” Sherlock states. “Thank you, though.”

“Not even if you were little?” John raises a brow. 

“I don’t want to be little right now, I want to be able to think clearly.”

“Alright, then.” John shrugs. “I’ll be here if you, uh, change your mind.”

“Thank you, John.”


	36. Laundry

An hour or so later, Mrs. Hudson quietly makes her way up to Sherlock and John’s flat. She came in with a plate of biscuits, a disappointed look on her face when she entered and saw ‘normal’ behaviour taking place in 221B. 

John was on his laptop, typing away, doing  _something_. Sherlock was taking eyedroppers of various liquids, and putting them onto a row of set out microscope slides. His eyes flicker up to Mrs. Hudson, landing on the plate of biscuits she was carrying. 

“Leave them on the coffee table, Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock instructs in a firm voice, that indicated that he’d rather not be deterred from his research at the moment. “Thank you for visiting.”

Mrs. Hudson huffs as she sets down the plate. “Where’s the baby?” She asks. Sherlock freezes for a moment, eyes going to John then back to her. He clears his throat. 

“There is important research happening here, Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock waves his empty hand at her. “There is no time for infantile things.”

“But, you enjoyed yourself so much being small.” Mrs. Hudson pouts. “And, I was hoping to spend time with little Sherlock today.”

“Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock stands up from his work. “What can I do that would make you leave?”

“You can’t.” She folds her arms. John snickers at this, finally interested in what was going on around him. He looks from Mrs. Hudson, to Sherlock. The older woman had her arms folded and a look of determination on her face. Sherlock just looked slightly annoyed, the telltale crease on his forehead. 

“And, why can’t I?” Sherlock inquires.

“Because...I’m your landlady.” Mrs. Hudson states. “And, I’m here to do an inspection.”

“ _Inspection_?” Sherlock spits the word, finally leaving his research to enter the living room and get a clearer look at Mrs. Hudson. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Sherlock,” John warns as he can sense that Sherlock might be on the verge of saying something further insulting than questioning the older woman’s sanity.

“Have I  _what_?” Mrs. Hudson’s mouth hangs open. “Sherlock Holmes!”

“Ah, well the dementia hasn’t fully settled in.” Sherlock’s hands go behind his back. “You can still recognize me, good.”

“That’s  _enough_.” John closes his laptop. “You don’t have to take it out on her, Sherlock.” John rolls his eyes. “We all know that you’re cranky, go back to your slides.”

“Stay out of this. I’m having a pleasant chat with our landlady.” Sherlock looks at the doctor. “Would you like a biscuit, John?” He motions to the plate on the coffee table. 

“Why don’t  _you_  have one, Sherlock?” John suggests. “Then apologize to Mrs. Hudson.”

“Don’t want to.” Sherlock frowns. Being told what to do pushed him a bit into his headspace, his voice giving away the beginning descend into littleness. 

John didn’t know if the slip was going to be a good thing or not. But, it would be more fun to care for Sherlock, rather than sit around on his laptop all night. Besides, the doctor was sure that Sherlock wouldn’t really mind. 

“Apologize,  _now_ , Sherlock. That was very rude.” John’s voice thickens with sternness. Sherlock turns to frown at John. “Now.”

Sherlock sighs. “My apologies, Mrs. Hudson.” He says, his voice still very ‘big’. 

_Darn it_. John sighs, he thought making Sherlock apologize might make him feel completely small. He’d also expected a bit more of a fight about it. 

“It’s alright, dear.” Mrs. Hudson sighs, taking a seat on the sofa. “How was your day at work, John?”

“I brought Sherlock with me.” John replies from his spot at the desk.

“How’d that go?” Her face lights up. “I thought it was quiet up here.”

“It went well, Sherlock was a good boy.” John grins. “He ate lunch with his daddy, and he wasn’t very naughty. He spoke a bit  _rudely_  about one of my coworkers.” He turned to give a scolding look at Sherlock. “But, other than that, it was fun having him around.”

“Brilliant,” Mrs. Hudson smiles and looks at Sherlock. “Did you enjoy spending time with your daddy, today?”

Sherlock nods, crossing the room to his chair, folding one leg over the other. Mrs. Hudson addressed him as if he was small, but he wasn’t. His headspace  _was_  trying to take over, but he did a fine job holding it off. He sat with good posture. “John was busy most of the day, he’d come to visit every once in a while. It was a fine day, yes.”

“Good, then.” Mrs. Hudson nods, watching as John got up and approached the plate of biscuits. He took one for himself, and one for Sherlock. 

John brought the treat over to Sherlock. The younger man was reaching out to take it himself, but John pressed the biscuit to Sherlock’s lips for him. Instinctually, Sherlock lowered his hand back to his lap, and opened his mouth. He took a small bite, contently moaning at the delicious sweet. 

Knowing what he was doing, John took Sherlock’s biscuit with him back across the room to the couch with Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock whined when his treat was taken, and with that, little Sherlock had arrived. 

“You want your biscuit, love?” John asks, Sherlock nods wildly. “Come here, then.”

Sherlock gets up and quickly makes his way to the couch, worming his way between the two ‘adults’ and curling himself against his daddy. 

“Ah, lovely!” Mrs. Hudson claps her hand when the baby comes over. “Hello, little one.” She pets his curls. The boy looks over at her briefly, before turning back to John with his lips parted. John holds the biscuit up to Sherlock’s mouth and the baby nibbles on the biscuit a bit, before taking it into his own hands to feed himself and sitting back against the couch. 

“He hasn’t had a nap today,” John speaks. “That might be another reason that he’s so cranky.”

“How often does he usually nap?” Mrs. Hudson watches the baby gnaw on his biscuit, turning the part at his mouth into mush. 

“Once or twice a day.” John replies. “And, now that he’s little, he’ll probably need to wet soon. He hasn’t gone since my lunch hour.” 

“Love,” Mrs. Hudson reaches for a tissue from the box on the coffee table. “You’re dribbling everywhere, aren’t you?” She cleans the drool from Sherlock’s chin. 

“He does that when he eats biscuits.” John informs her, a slight twinge of jealousy as the older woman gets to care for his baby, cleaning the boy’s face. Sherlock is quiet, absentmindedly looking around the room. 

John wants to change Sherlock into his ‘little’ attire. He’s far to small for his button down blouse and dress slacks. Of course, the baby doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Did you have a good day with your daddy?” Mrs. Hudson asks Sherlock. He nods and takes the biscuit away from his mouth. 

“Dada work.” Sherlock replies in a teeny-tiny voice. John wonders why he’s so regressed. Is it because Mrs. Hudson is here? Or is it just how he’s feeling at the moment? 

“He worked today? My goodness!” Mrs. Hudson exclaims. “Did you help?”

“Yes.” Sherlock nods, and John chuckles at this. 

_Yes,_ John thinks.  _I brought my baby into the procedures with me_. 

“Did he make you do all the work?” Mrs. Hudson pretends to look sympathetic with the little boy. Sherlock nods again, sadly this time. 

“Lazy Dada.” Sherlock says then sticks his tongue out at John. 

“Oh for god’s sake, Sherlock.” John rolls his eyes and chuckles. “Do you like being a fibber?”

Sherlock giggles and continues gnawing on his biscuit.

“Mrs. Hudson?” John calls as he stands up. 

‘Yes John, dear?” 

“Do you mind watching Sherlock while I run down and do some laundry?” He asks, and she grins. 

“I’d love to have some quality time with the baby.” She turns to Sherlock. “Won’t that just be lovely?”

The little boy nods. 

“Daddy will be right back.” John bend down, his face close to the baby’s. “Alright, bug?”

“Yes.” Sherlock puckers his lips. “Kiss?”

Sherlock’s mouth is messy with biscuit mush. John chuckles, reaching for a tissue to wipe the little boy’s mouth first. Then, John softly kisses Sherlock’s lips. They exchange a whispered ‘mwah’ before John heads down the hall to grab the dirty laundry. 

Meanwhile, Sherlock continues to gnaw on his biscuit. He turns to look at Mrs. Hudson as she pets his cheek. 

“You’ve got a lovely daddy, haven’t you?” She asks gently. 

“When Dada come back?” Sherlock frowns worriedly.

“In a moment.” She assures him, but the baby is still upset. He sits up and looks around the flat. 

“Dada?” Sherlock calls. John hears him, but pretends not to. He’s not sure if replying would do any good. He really would be back in just a moment. 

“Sherlock,” Mrs. Hudson taps the boy’s shoulder to distract him. “Have you got a stuffy?”

“Stuffy?” Sherlock repeats, thinking about his owl. He nods. 

“Might you show me?” She asks. He thinks again before nodding. 

He scoots himself off the couch, before toddling to the backpack where the owl had remained packs away after John’s work. He returns with the snowy owl, drawn to his chest in a hug. 

“Wow,” Mrs. Hudson is actually impressed. “It’s  _beautiful_.” She comments. 

“Yes.” Sherlock agrees, sitting on the sofa, legs drawn to his chest, owl too. 

“Is your owl a boy or a girl?” Mrs. Hudson pets the owl’s head. 

Sherlock frowns at the question. “Neither. It’s an  _owl_.” The little boy replies. 

The older woman blinks a few times. “Hm, well, I suppose you’re right.”

“Yes.” Sherlock’s frown vanishes as he sees John coming back from down the hall, and exiting the flat with a basket of laundry in his arms. “Dada?” Sherlock calls. 

“I’ll be back, love.” John replies, making his way down the stairs towards the laundry room. 

Sherlock looks a bit panicked, breath picking up as John leaves. 

“Does your owl have a name?” Mrs. Hudson distracts him again. 

“What?” Sherlock turns his head to her, his voice between big and little. 

“A name?” She points to the snowy owl. Sherlock runs his hand over the stuffed animal. 

“Yes, my owl’s name is-” Sherlock is cut off by the ringing of his mobile. He looks at the caller ID, but doesn’t recognize the number. “Sherlock Holmes.” He answered voice deep, back to being big. Upon listening for a moment, he frowned. “No, why?”

“Is everything alright?” Mrs. Hudson looked concerned.

Sherlock holds up a hand to silence her. “I simply will not, John and I have plans tomorrow.”

Mrs. Hudson’s brow furrows. 

“Well, change the date and we will attend.” Sherlock speaks into his mobile. “Oh for god’s sake. Grow up.” The irony, Sherlock is telling someone to grow up.  _He’s_ the one in the nappy. He listens again for a few moments, as the person on the other end of the call yammers on. “That sounds more reasonable, John and I will arrive at that date, not any sooner. Goodbye.”

He hangs up and the phone and looks at the older woman. 

“Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock says, still baritone voiced. 

“Yes?” She asks. “Is something wrong.”

“Where is John?” He inquires, still big. “My nappy is wet.” It sounds odd for him to be announcing this when he’s not little. 

“Oh...he said you might wet.” She clears his throat, simply going unfazed by the oddness of it. “He’s doing laundry, don’t you remember?”

“No, I don’t  _keep_  everything while being little.” Sherlock says. “Babies don’t keep everything, neither shall I during that time.” He stands up. “Besides, most of it is nonsense. Well, delightful nonsense.” He walks out into the stairwell. “John!” He calls.

“Sherlock, he’ll be right back.” Mrs. Hudson reminds him. “Can’t you wait?”

“I want  _him_ ,” He frowns, voice indicating that he’s slipping. “I want my daddy...”

“He’ll be back soon.” Mrs. Hudson pulls Sherlock in from the stairwell, to keep his whines from reaching downstairs. “How about we get you ready for Daddy to change you?”

Sherlock eyes her for a moment, then nods. 

“Good, baby.” Mrs. Hudson praises him, before helping him to lay on the floor. “Do you have a dummy?” She asks, Sherlock nods and pulls the dummy out of his pocket, where he’d put it earlier. The landlady takes the dummy from the little boy, and presses the nipple to his lips. Sherlock latches on and immediately looks sleepy. 

“Poor baby. Are you tired, sweet boy?” She rubs his tummy, then hands him his owl. Sherlock’s arms wrap around the owl. 

The baby shakes his head. 

“No?” Mrs. Hudson giggles. “I think you’re quite in need of a kip, yeah?”

He shakes his head again. 

“I think you need some rest.” Mrs. Hudson takes off his shoes, then reaches up to unfasten his trousers. “You know, some of my lady friends would be very jealous right now.” She comments, of course the baby doesn’t understand what she means. “But, you’re not a strapping young man right now, are you? You’re just a cute little baby boy.”

Sherlock nods this time. Because who was he to argue? He  _was_  little, and he  _was_  cute. 

The older woman pulls the trousers off, and drapes them over the chair at the desk. She gently feels the nappy. This makes Sherlock blush. No one has ever been in contact with his nappies other than John. Well, his parents as well, but that’s when he was an actual baby. 

“Yup, that nappy is full little one.” She confirms, as if Sherlock didn’t know. He pushed himself up into a seated position. 

“Want Dada.” Sherlock says.  _How long does it take to put laundry in the machine?_

“What are you gonna do when your daddy gets back?” Mrs. Hudson pats the baby’s bare knee.

“Do kisses.” Sherlock says, putting down his owl in order to pull off his socks. He doesn’t like wearing them in the flat, big or little. 

“You’re gonna give your daddy kisses?” She asks. “What a sweet boy you are!”

“You think he’s sweet?” John’s voice asks from across the room, surprising both the landlady and his baby. 

“Daddy!” Sherlock bounces up onto his feet, running and wrapping John in his arms. 

“Hi, sweet pea.” John smiles at the little boy, then looks back up at Mrs. Hudson. “He’s sweet sometimes.” John teases. “I think he’s a little monster.” 

“I’m not a monster, Daddy.” Sherlock pouts. 

“You’re not?” John asks, the baby shakes his head then leans forward and kisses John eagerly on his lips. “Wow, baby. That was a big kiss.”

“No more leaving.” Sherlock insists.

“I’ve got to go get the laundry when it’s done, haven’t I?” John asks. 

“No!” Sherlock holds John tighter, this is when the doctor looks down. 

“Speaking of clothes, where’ve your trousers gone?” John chuckles. 

“Wet.” Sherlock looks down at his nappy too. 

“Oh, I see.” John looks up at Mrs. Hudson. “You’ve gotten him ready for me? You didn’t have to do that.” He says as he pets the boy’s curls. 

“I just wanted to help.” Mrs. Hudson smiles softly. “I’m afraid that I have to go back downstairs now though.”

“That’s quite alright, thanks for spending time with us.” John nods. “Tell Mrs. Hudson goodbye, love.”

“Bye-bye.” Sherlock leans into John as he says it. 

“Goodbye, sweetheart.” She kisses his crown, then pats John’s head. When she’s gone, John closes the door to their flat. 

The older man looks at the tiny detective. “So,” John says. “Let’s get your nappy changed, huh?”

“Yes." Sherlock nods, following his Daddy down the hall to the bedroom. 


	37. What's the Difference?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, just leaving a warning. 
> 
> The chapter contains a teeny bit of NSFW. No sex, just kisses. Lovely (against the wall) kisses.  
> Like I said, not graphic at all. But, you have been warned. 
> 
> I only put nsfw because they're a bit more physical than normal, and I just didn't want to throw it on you all, haha.
> 
> PS: The Age Play aspect of this fic will NEVER get sexual. John and Sherlock have this moment while they are both in mindsets of adults. I will never write sexual-infantilism for this story. Never, never, never. 
> 
> Ok, that's all, go read lovelies :D

The following morning, John was to keep an eye on the clock. Sherlock had said that he wanted to be big by the afternoon, and it was four hours before noon now. 

However, they both had rude awakenings. Sherlock woke up on his own accord, but John woke to Sherlock whimpering. 

“Sherlock?” John grumbled into consciousness at the sound of his whimpering baby. “What’s wrong, love?”

“Dada, dream.” Sherlock sniffles, rubbing his wet eyes with the backs of his hands. 

“You had a bad dream?” John’s brow furrowed. “Want to tell Daddy what happened?”

“Sherlock, lost Dada.” Sherlock shudders an intake of breath. He’s actually _really_ upset by this, and very much regressed. The previous night, Sherlock had stayed quite small, and today it seemed that he was very little as well. 

“You...lost me?” 

“Yes, gone.” Sherlock scoots closer to John, hiding his face in his daddy’s neck. John strokes his hair. 

“Well, I’m right here.” John assures him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Dada was taken from Sherlock,” The baby whines. “Bad people.”

“Bad people took me?”

“Yes, from Sherlock.”

“Do you know who took me?” 

“Bad people, bad man.” Sherlock’s bright colored eyes are clouded with fear. John can feel his baby’s heightened pulse at the places that their skin touches. 

“Aw, sweet pea.” John rolls onto his side to face his boy completely. “You know that won’t happen, right?”

“Don’t leave.” Sherlock’s voice sounds strangled, like he’s speaking around a large lump in his throat.

“I won’t.” John assures him, keeping eye contact with the frightened boy. 

“Please,” Sherlock blinks tears from his eyes, his voice deepening as he’s pushed from his headspace. John hadn’t seen ‘big’ Sherlock for a while. Not since they’d gotten off work the previous day. After Sherlock had slipped during Mrs. Hudson’s visit, ‘big’ Sherlock had stayed hidden away. “Don’t leave me, John. Please, oh god. Don’t ever...I couldn’t. How could I-”

“Sherlock Holmes.” John frowns, his ‘military’ voice pulling through to Sherlock. “You damn listen to me.”

“J-John...” Sherlock hides his face in John’s neck. 

“I am  _never_  leaving you.” John declares. “You are my home, my heart. I need you just as much as you need me.”

“What is this  _feeling_ , John?” Sherlock’s lips tickle John’s neck as he speaks. “I feel it again.”

“You want me to hold you?” John asks, slinking an arm around the other’s slender waist. 

“Yes, but... _more_ than that.” The detective says. “I want to be yours so badly it hurts. But, why don’t I feel like I’m yours? I’m  _here_ , in your arms...but I don’t feel like I belong to you.”

“Sherlock, maybe you-”

“I’ve given you everything, haven’t I? Shouldn’t you have claimed me because of that?” 

“ _Claimed_ you?” John sputters. “Bloody hell, Sherlock...don’t say it like that.”

“That’s what I want.” Sherlock’s face is still hidden away. “What’s the difference between ‘big me’ and ‘little me’?” He asks. “When I’m little, I feel like I’m yours, completely. Unchangeably.”

“Ok...”

“But when I’m big, I feel like I have to  _work_ to even have your attention.” Sherlock admits. “I feel like I’m detached from you. Like we’re separate beings. I don’t feel that way when I’m little.”

“I...don’t know what to say.”

“Of _course_ you don’t.” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Your brain is slighter than mine.”

“Wow...”

“Don’t be like that, I don’t mean it cruelly.” Sherlock picks his face up from John’s neck. “But, do you get the gist of what I’m saying at all?”

“I do.” John nods. 

“Then, might you know how to claim me?”

“Sherlock...”

“I don’t feel like I’m your entire world, when I’m big. But, I want to be.” Sherlock sits up and looks at the sunlight beginning to stream through the window. “John...”

“Yes?”

“I think...I wet in my sleep.”

“Oh...damn it, that can’t be good.” John sits up as well. “Not only may you have gotten a rash but-”

“It might’ve just been the dream.”

“That’s...still not good.”

“I know.” Sherlock sighs. 

“Is your nappy cold?” John asks. “If it’s warmer, maybe you did it upon waking, like you normally do. But, because your little side was so upset, you didn’t notice?”

Sherlock pulls the blanket back a bit from himself, parting his legs a little, giving access to John. He always left all the nappy business to John. 

The doctor gently brought his hand to the nappy, it was on the coldish side. A bit of warmth, but John can’t tell if it’s just from Sherlock’s body heat or not.

“Yeah...happened a while ago, lad.” John frowns in concern. “How do we fix this? Are you...completely incontinent? Is it going to happen always? Will you be in nappies forever, then?”

“No...this has happened before.” Sherlock clears his throat. “I might just have to potty train again.”

“ _What_?” John squeaks. 

“Tedious, yes. I know.” Sherlock looks over at John. “Might we kiss?”

“Huh?” John asks, but it’s too late. Sherlock has leaned over and touched the softest, most gentle kiss to John’s mouth. The older male has never had a kiss so...ethereal. He kisses back automatically, and as soon as his lips respond, Sherlock moves away. 

“I...feel like I’m yours when I kiss you.” Sherlock pats John’s cheek, then turns away again. “I wish it was always.”

“Why don’t you just bloody be with me, then?” John spits, his tone indicated how frustrated he was. 

“What?” Sherlock’s voice is monotoned. 

“You’re such an  _idiot_.” John throws his hands up. “How can you be _so damn_ smart, yet also the biggest fucking moron on the entire continent?”

Sherlock doesn’t react to John’s outburst. 

“Haven’t you met Anderson?” Sherlock replies. “Now  _that creature_ , ugh...” He shudders. “I can feel my braincells bloody doing themselves in, just because I’ve made them think of the poor imbecile. Oh, there go more of them.  _Save yourselves, friends_!” Sherlock says in a ‘cartoony’ high-pitched voice, apparently the voice of one of his tiny braincells fleeing for its life. 

John just stares as Sherlock apparently loses his mind. 

“Whatever.” John hisses as he gets out of the bed, Sherlock watching him. 

“Where are you going?” Sherlock asks. 

“Tea.”

“You’re upset?” Sherlock’s eyebrows come together. 

“Thanks for noticing.”

“Wait,” Sherlock jumps out of the bed. “What have I done?”

John ignores his flatmate as he exits the bedroom. 

“Please, John!” Sherlock says the word that John can’t ignore, but this time...he tries to. “John!” Sherlock follows the older man into the kitchen. 

John says nothing, he just fills the kettle with water and sets it to boil. Sherlock stands, staring at the back of John’s head. 

“You’re...you’re ignoring me?” Sherlock feels pain all over as he’s met with silence. “B-But, you said you wouldn’t leave me...” He lets himself sink to the floor. “And I’m w-wet, Daddy.” His voice begins to transition. 

John had forgotten about his nappy, his poor baby has been in it for a long while. Also, it’s really not Sherlock’s fault that he doesn’t understand his feelings for John. And, it’s not like John is really giving the younger man a ton of time to figure it out. He didn’t even realize it for himself until just recently. Ignoring Sherlock, especially after he’d just had a horrible nightmare, wasn’t really that kind of him. In fact, he felt horrible. 

“Damn it.” John turns around to see his baby on the floor, rubbing fresh tears from his eyes. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

“No!” Sherlock scoots away when John’s gets closer. 

“Baby, Daddy is very sorry.” John doesn’t know how to comfort his child at this point. The little boy probably feels a bit betrayed at this time. “I didn’t leave you. I'm still here.”

“You...Daddy,” Sherlock takes his hands from his eyes. “You sh-shut me out.” 

The boy’s voice is wavering between big and little now, and he feels many sorts of scared. He’s afraid John might leave, he’s afraid of the confusing feeling in his chest when John gets close. But, the fear of John getting close is his big side, not his little. His smaller self wants to curl into John’s chest, but not right this second. He’s still upset. 

“I...did, just for a second. I was angry.” John avoids the boy’s wet eyes. 

“But,  _why_?” Sherlock’s voice deepens. “What have I done wrong? Why can’t you just tell me so I can fix it? Why do this to us?!”

“Do this to  _us_?” John’s face crosses with anger. 

“Yes!” Sherlock is sitting on the floor with John. They’re right in front of the archway between the hall leading to Sherlock’s bedroom, and the kitchen. Their voices echo of the silent spaces. “Make us fight like this!”

“I’m not _making_ us do a damn thing!”

“Then why shut me out!? You have no need to!”

“Because I’m frustrated with you, Sherlock!”

“B-Because...of...me being little?”

“What?” John’s face and voice soften. “Angel, no...” He wouldn’t usually address Sherlock as ‘angel’ which is how John knows that his own headspace is poking through. For a moment, he forgets that Sherlock isn’t his little boy right now. “I love, sweetheart, Daddy loves you so much.”

“John...” Sherlock folds his legs, placing his hands in his lap. “Why are you frustrated with me? Please tell me.”

“Oh...” John shakes his head to clear it, remembering to address Sherlock now as an adult. But, his urge to nurture Sherlock’s little side is strong. “I...can’t tell you, though.”

“If you love me, tell me....please..” Sherlock says simply, his deep voice slow, steady. Rumbling as it sits low in his chest, heavy with emotion. 

John doesn’t know why, but he feels his own eyes prickle with tears. 

“ _That’s_  why I’m frustrated.” He reaches up his hand to wipe his eyes. 

“John...you’re _crying_.” Sherlock crawls closer to the man and he draws John into his arms. “Why?” He holds John close to his chest, and the older male feels so safe now. He...feels smaller now, completely enclosed in Sherlock's arms. Is this what Sherlock feels when John holds him? 

The sudden strong feeling of security, only makes John feel safer to cry, and he does so harder than before. Small sobs shaking him. Sherlock’s chin is resting atop John’s light hair. He’s rubbing John’s arm soothingly. John’s surprised at how good Sherlock is at holding him. When the doctor is silent, Sherlock speaks. 

“You’re frustrated because you...love me?” Sherlock asks. “I don’t understand.”

“Because...you don’t love me too.”

“Of course I do.”

“Not the way that I love you.”

“Why do you say that?” Sherlock frowns, but continues to rub John’s arm, continues to hold John closely. 

“You haven’t realized it yet,” John shakes his head. “And, I think it’ll be quite a while before you do.”

“I...haven’t realized what?”

“That you love me, the way I love you.”

“But... _how_ do you love me?” Sherlock speaks, John can feel the deep vibrations as he leans against the man’s chest. 

“I don’t feel like I should tell you.”

“That’s unfair, and unwise.” Sherlock’s tone turns scolding. “How the _hell_ am I suppose to realize something that I’m not aware of?”

“I just feel like, if you were to  _really_  feel this thing...then you wouldn’t need me to tell you about it. You would just _know_.” John sighs. “Maybe, I’m wrong, maybe you don’t love me like...I love you.”

“I want to, whatever way it is, I want to John.” Sherlock holds him tighter. “Please tell me in what way you love me, all of the ways.” His eyes well up with tears. “Let me love you in every way.”

“Sherlock...”

“I feel empty, in my chest. I feel this hollow ache, like something is missing.” Sherlock says. “And, I swear that  _this_ , what we’re talking about right now, is what I need to feel complete. It’s  _you_ , John. I need you...now. All of you. Please tell me how you love me, to take this empty pain away.”

“What if you just  _think_  it’s what you need?” John turns his face into Sherlock’s chest, breathing him in. “What if I tell you, and you ‘ _Sherlock_ ’ the whole thing?”

“Did...you just use my name as a verb?”

“Yes.”

“What does it mean to ‘ _Sherlock_ ’ something?”

John removes his face from Sherlock’s chest to speak. 

“Detach and devalue all human nature towards something,” John explains. “Thus, looking at the situation, person, or object purely in its scientific or logical form without emotions, especially those of sympathy and or empathy. Example, 'love is a dangerous disadvantage'.”

Sherlock blinks a few times. “Have you formulated that definition beforehand, or did you just pull that out of your arse? Because  _christ_ , John.”

“Either way, it’s highly accurate.”

“As it should be,” Sherlock is proud of his intelligent flatmate. “Good on you, John.”

“Yeah, yeah.” John sighs. “So, to say it simpler...I’m afraid that I’ll tell you how I feel, and why...”

“Uh-huh?”

“And then, you’ll blow it off as a ‘common human problem’ or a ‘flaw’ or ‘defect’ and you’ll just leave me here to love you like this forever, and I’ll never get to -- I don’t know.”

“Never get to what?”

“Be...yours.” John blushes, thankful Sherlock can’t see it. 

“I just told you earlier, that all I want is to be yours, John.” Sherlock frowns. “I don’t see why you won’t just fucking tell me.” He curses, and John flinches at the harsh words from the detective. “If we both want to be together so badly, why won’t you just-”

“Why is it so  _hard_  for you?” John raises his voice. “If we both want to be together, how can you  _not_  see why that is!?”

“You won’t tell me!”

“You can figure out who bloody fucking murdered who, by a _single_ stain on the bottom of a god damn  _shoe_! But you can’t figure out why on  _earth_  you would want to be with me?!”

“Those are two completely different things!”

“Maybe  _we’re_ just two completely different things!”

“We are! We always have been!” Sherlock watches as John stands up, he stands up as well. “But that’s why we’re us! Why we  _work_!”

“We’re not working now!”

“This is _how_ we work, you stupid idiot moron!” Sherlock shouts. 

He and John now staring at each other, both of their shoulders and chests heaving with coarse breaths. Both sets of eyes, teary. Sherlock is first to break the silence. 

“Make me feel like I’m yours, John.” The brunette pleas, voice deep and gravelly. He eyes John, waiting for a response. “Kiss me.”

“Sherlock...” John isn’t sure why he says the man’s name, but he doesn’t say much else as he steps forward, pushing his flatmate roughly against the wall. He doesn’t hurt Sherlock, but it does startle the younger a bit. 

The startle makes its way out of Sherlock, up through his vocal chords into a strangled moan. Sherlock lets his eyes close as John crowds his own body around Sherlock’s slender frame. The older man is up slightly on his toes, Sherlock’s arms around him. 

They haven’t kissed yet, they’re just nosing and mouthing at each other. Nipping at each other’s necks, earlobes, collarbones. John is making soft noises like his insides are falling apart. Soft whimpers, punctuated by gentle moans as Sherlock's mouth gently explores his skin. 

“John, a-ah...” Sherlock groans when John leans in to bite and suck at his nipples through the soft fabric of his shirt. The detective’s large hands, work themselves, splayed out across John’s shoulder blades as the doctor’s mouth left wet marks, across the cotton covering the younger’s chest. “Please...” Sherlock murmurs as his hands move from John’s shoulder blades, and up to the doctor’s face. 

Their mouths meet, and the emotion behind even the simple touch of lips, is enough to make both of their knees nearly give out. Sherlock’s body shudders under John’s, as he’s still pressed against the wall by John’s hips. Sherlock's lips part when John's hand smooths its way under his shirt, he loves feeling John's hands moving against his skin. The kiss begins to deepen when tongues become involved, brushing rhythmically against one another's.

John hears Sherlock sigh as they separate for breath, they both have to remind themselves not to say ‘mwah’. John withdrawals his hand from Sherlock's shirt, placing it on the wall to Sherlock's side, letting their foreheads rest together. But, something feels a bit off. Maybe it’s because they both feel the subtle switch in Sherlock’s body. 

“Hurts...” John hears little Sherlock say. 

It takes a second for John to switch into his headspace as well. It’s usually a much more fluid slip, but John has to put some effort into it this time. He steps away from Sherlock, to keep himself in check. Sherlock wasn’t the man he was in love with right now, this was his baby. He had to take care of his baby. 

“What hurts, love?” John frowns in concern.

“Nappy.” Sherlock tugs at the sodden material and John feels _horrible_. The baby’s wet nappy had slipped his mind again. He’s been in it far too long, and the probably hurts because it’s forming a rash. 

“Oh, sweetheart...Daddy is  _so sorry_.” John puts his hand over his mouth. “I’m so sorry, let’s get you out of that nappy, ok? Daddy is so sorry.”

“It’s ok...” Little Sherlock says, though he reasonably sounds uncomfortable when he says it. 

“It’s not, it’s Daddy’s job to take care of you and...ugh, I’m sorry, Sherlock.” John extends his hand. “Let’s get you changed.”


	38. Always with You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, just leaving a warning. 
> 
> The chapter contains NSFW. Nothing horribly graphic, no sex.  
> There's talk of arousal, and specific mention of body parts and their...states. 
> 
> Like I said, not graphic at all. But, you have been warned. 
> 
> PS: The Age Play aspect of this fic will NEVER get sexual. John and Sherlock have this moment while they are both in mindsets of adults. I will never write sexual-infantilism for this story. Never, never, never. 
> 
> Ok, that's all, go read lovelies :D
> 
> (If you don't like NSFW, then maybe not read this chapter?)

John has Sherlock lay on the bed as usual. He’d forgotten to give Sherlock his dummy clip back after work yesterday. The boy’s dummy from the previous night, is further up on the bed, near their pillows. But, John doesn’t retrieve it. He wants Sherlock to be able to communicate which areas hurt the most, because sometimes, the rashed areas aren’t as visible, and John wants to make sure that he’s soothed any and all broken out areas. 

“Alright, let’s change your nappy, yeah?” John says as he untapes the first tab. The filled area of the nappy is warmer than when John had felt it earlier, and fuller. The baby must’ve gone again at some point. Which, is fine. Just, John feels guilty. He should’ve changed him the first time. 

When John goes to untape the second tab, Sherlock props himself up on his forearms. 

“Wait...” Sherlock stops him, his voice is normal, the childish cloud from his eyes is gone. 

“What? Are you alright?”

“I’m...I’m aroused.” Sherlock admits. John opens and closes his mouth a few times. 

“M-me too.” John says. “But...this isn’t sexual.”

“I know...I just...I’m embarrassed.” Sherlock face reddens. 

“It’s ok,” John pats Sherlock’s knee. “We’re not going to do this differently than any nappy change.”

“I’m not worried that you’re going to touch me like  _that_....”

“Good.”

“But...for you to see me like that is...well, embarrassing.”

“I’m a  _doctor_ , Sherlock.” John reminds him. “And, I’m a grown man. I’ve seen it before.”

Sherlock groans, annoyed. Hands ruffling his curls, he’s getting frustrated. 

“Blah, blah, you’re a doctor! Great!” Sherlock huffs. “That doesn’t mean I’m not embarrassed for you to see my...penis. Especially when it’s like this.”

“Alright, well...do you want to wait until you’re not aroused?”

“No, fuck...it burns.” Sherlock shakes his head, speaking of the rash. “How I manage to keep an erection through this, I don’t understand.”

“Then let me help you.” John offers, and for a second...Sherlock thinks he means his arousal, but of course _Doctor Watson_ only means the rash. Not that Sherlock wanted John to relieve him of his...need. It's just that, his thoughts are currently misted with a small amount of lust.

Sherlock eyes the doctor for a few moments, before nodding, accepting his care. But, Sherlock doesn’t lay back down, he keeps himself propped up on his forearms. John allows this for now, but he can’t clean Sherlock’s bum like this, so the brunette will have to lay down again eventually. 

“You’ll let me clean you?” John asks, making sure he has Sherlock's consent to carry on the nappy change. Again, Sherlock nods. “Ok, I’ll be right back.” 

John heads to the washroom, grabbing a clean, soft cloth, and wetting it with warm water. The doctor gets a wet cloth, instead of using the wipes, because sometimes the wipes contain ingredients that could further irritate rashed skin.

He returns with the cloth to Sherlock, holding it one hand as he untapes the nappy completely with the other. 

The doctor opens the nappy, not at all surprised by what he sees. Sherlock however, has now laid back all the way. Covering his face with both of his hands. 

“Hey, it’s alright.” John says soothingly to Sherlock as he brings the warm cloth to his bits. Sherlock hisses, and John can’t tell if it’s pain or pleasure, but he doesn’t dwell on it. He cleans the area around Sherlock’s member first, because it appears the reddest, from an obvious rash. 

Sherlock’s face is still covered as John moves to clean the area covered by his dark pubic hair. The detective has no reaction to this. 

When John cleaned his scrotum, Sherlock gave a whine and fidgeted. His voice sounded small now, also very displeased. 

“I’m sorry, love.” John lets a small frown tug at the corner of his mouth. He was completely in his fatherly headspace. His heart was hurting as he looked at the angry, inflamed skin around Sherlock’s bits. “I’m going to clean your penis now, ok?”

Sherlock peeked at John from behind his hands and shook his head. 

“No, Daddy.” Sherlock whined. 

“I’ll be quick. It’ll take just a second, I promise.” John speaks reassuringly. 

“Can...can I have my dummy first?” The boy gave John pleading eyes. 

“Sure, hold on.” John reached for the unused wipes, taking one from the packet. He works the wipe over his hands to clean them first so that he won't be handling the dummy with unclean hands. Then, John crawls up the bed to the dummy, retrieving it. “Here, baby.” 

Sherlock parts his lips and lets John push the dummy between them. The little boy immediately gets to self soothing, suckling nosily. 

“Poor lamb.” John murmurs apologetically before beginning to clean the sensitive part. Sherlock’s eyebrows came together at the contact and he whined again, he tries to wriggle away. “Almost done, love.” John feels guilty. 

“D-Daddy,” The baby sniffles, but he’s not crying. “Don’t like it.”

“I know, it feels strange, huh?” John finishes cleaning him there. “See, Daddy was quick, wasn’t he?”

“Y-yes...” Sherlock props himself up on his forearms again. 

“Lay down, silly.” John chuckles. “I’ve gotta get your bum.”

“No, done.” Sherlock tries to get up.

“Sherlock, I’m  _serious_.” John’s voice sterns. “If I don’t clean you, you’re going to hurt even more. And, it could be bad.”

“Bad?” The baby repeats and lays on his back. 

“Yes.” John nods and waits for Sherlock to relax and bring his legs up. When he does, John gently cleans the baby’s bottom. “Thank you, Sherlock.”

“Uh-huh.” Sherlock replies, flinching when John went over the slight rash there as well. 

“Alright.” John says when he’s finished. “Now, I need you to do something for me, ok?”

“Um...ok?” Sherlock’s voice wavered between big and small. 

“I want your rash to be able to breathe for a moment, so can you wear some lose fitting pants, and no nappy, just for a bit?”

“But...what if I need to pee, Daddy?” Sherlock sits up. 

“Do you think you could tell me if you need to, so we can get you to the potty?”

“I...” Sherlock thinks. “Don’t know.”

“Hm,” John thinks as well. “Ok, how about this...”

“Ok...”

“What about, we don’t sit on any furniture, just in case?" John supposes. "And, we eat our breakfast, sitting on a towel, also just in case?”

“Daddy with me?” Sherlock asks. 

“Of course, baby. Always with you.”

“Yes.” Sherlock nods as John folds up the wet nappy. He sits up as John leaves the room to throw the nappy out and wash his hands. 

When John returns, he digs a worn pair of pants from the drawer. They’ll be lose fitting and breathable for the baby, giving the skin ample time to dry and save the boy the irritation of having the nappy rubbing against him. After breakfast, John will put nappy cream on Sherlock’s rash, and give him a nappy again. 

John helps Sherlock into the pants, and begins putting away the nappy supplies. As he turns back to Sherlock he sees the baby’s hand absentmindedly at his crotch. 

“Sherlock...” John moves the baby’s hand away. “That’s not for little boys to touch.”

The boy looks guilty. “Sorry, Daddy.”

“If you want, you can be big, and you can fix it.” John offers. “But, I don’t like to see you do that when you’re my little boy.”

Sherlock takes a deep calming breath before making eye contact with John. The littleness is gone from his eyes. 

“Hi, mate.” John greets him. 

“What time is it, Johnny?” Sherlock doesn’t bother looking at the clock. 

“Um...two and a half hours til noon.”

“Right...” Sherlock sighs. “So, here’s the plan.”

“Plan.” John nods, he liked plans. Sherlock always had a plan, though, he wasn’t always good at telling John the plan, leaving the doctor to scuttle wildly behind him with most things. 

“I’m going to go rid myself of this.” The younger motions to his crotch. “Then, I’d like to shave.” He says, running a hand over his jaw. “Next, breakfast...lastly, I’d like to listen to that song.”

“What song?”

“Silly, John.” Sherlock flashed a dimpled grin. “The one you’d shared with me during my nappy change the other day, the one I played for you.”

“Oh...” John slowly lets a smile spread over his face. “Sure.”

“Yeah?” Sherlock raises a pretty brow. 

“Yes, whatever you’d like.” John nods, noticing as Sherlock’s eyes dive to his lips. 

“Whatever I’d like?” Sherlock’s repeats John’s statement. 

“Y-yes...” John is suddenly shy, but he lets Sherlock lean in to claim his mouth in a kiss. It’s not a hungry kiss, just a passing of Sherlock’s lips over John’s. 

They separate far too soon, and Sherlock stands up from the bed. He’s heading in the direction of the bathroom, in order to go relieve himself of his arousal. John didn’t need to, though. His had vanished as soon as he went to change his baby’s nappy. 

John got up from the bed as well, to go begin scrounging around for something to make them for breakfast. They needed to go grocery shopping again, but they’d do that some other time. 

As John exits the bedroom, he and Sherlock catch eyes. Sherlock flashes another brilliant smile. 

“ _You_ , John.” Sherlock says, standing in the doorway to the washroom. 

“What?” The older tilts his head to the side, in confusion.

“You said I could have whatever I’d like...”

“Yeah?”

“And, I’d like to have  _you_ , John.” Sherlock's smile turns a bit sad, but it’s still a smile nonetheless. “Always.”


	39. Indoor Picnic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the previous chapter was awkward, but you survived!  
> Congrats -gives medal- it's not real gold...but....it's shiny, yeah? :)
> 
> Proceed strongly, young warrior! >:D
> 
>  
> 
> PS, no NSFW in this chapter, but John teases Sherlock about it a bit in the beginning. Nothing horrible.  
> :) 
> 
> ~TJL

Sherlock returned from the restroom clean-shaven and looking sort of blissful. John doesn’t say anything, but points to the towel he’s laid out, like a picnic blanket on the floor of the kitchen. Sherlock snickers at how cute and thoughtful this was of John. 

The doctor had even stacked books in the center of the large towel to act as a table. 

“Lovely, John.” Sherlock comments as he sits on the towel. He doesn’t want to tell John, that he’s far more clearer in his big headspace, so the towel setup might not be needed. Besides it's probably a good thing that he doesn't say anything. Sherlock knows that he should probably sit here anyway, in case he slips into his little headspace again. That way, they'd be better safe than sorry. 

“You like?” John comments from the stove.

“Yeah, it’s great.” Sherlock is borderline giddy right now. He feels like he can’t stop smiling. John can’t believe how enthusiastic and happy Sherlock sounds. 

“If you’re this gleeful from getting off, you should do it more often.” John teases, putting Sherlock’s portion onto his little plate, even though he's big now. He knows that Sherlock won’t eat as much that would fill a big plate anyway. 

“It’s not from getting off.” Sherlock sticks his tongue out at John. “It’s because, I’m excited to listen to the song with you.”

“Really...you’re this bloody chuffed about _that_?”

“That,” Sherlock nodded. “And, because we’re going to...do something fun today.”

“Oh,” John nods as well. “Right, right, right.”

“You’d forgotten?”

“No, no.” John shakes his head. “It’s just, I hadn’t been thinking about it just now.”

“Oh, ok.” Sherlock nods. 

“But, you still haven’t told me-”

“Oh, my dummy!” Sherlock bounces up to his feet and runs off to his bedroom. 

“Bleeding hell,” John comments. “He’s got _so much_ energy today.”

Sherlock hadn’t sounded small when he ran off to get his dummy, so John wondered why he’d run off so eagerly for it. But, he didn’t worry about it. Whatever Sherlock wanted, he was welcome to have, in John’s opinion. Even things gross questionable items in the fridge, or a dummy. 

When his flatmate returned he was holding one of his new ribbon clips and a dummy. 

“Dada, help?” Sherlock held out the two items to John. 

“Sure, perfect boy.” John leans forward to kiss Sherlock’s forehead. The older male had been looking forward to breakfast with ‘big’ Sherlock, but eating with his boy was just as lovely. 

However, the littleness disappeared when the dummy was clipped to him. 

“S-sorry...” Sherlock shakes his head in attempt to clear it. “I slipped.”

“It’s alright.” John chuckles, a bit in confusion. “So, you’re...big now?”

“Yes.”

“How long do you think you’ll stay big?”

“My head is foggy on that matter right now, I’m afraid.” Sherlock looks apologetic. 

“It’s ok.” John smiles. “Food is ready.”

“Good.” Sherlock walks to the towel with John, sitting down with him at their indoor picnic. “Thank you, John. This looks amazing, I’m starving to death.”

“You’re welcome, dig in.” John handed Sherlock the baby fork. Sherlock looked grateful for it, smiling as he took the item. It seemed Sherlock liked having the baby items around him at this time, though he didn’t want to be little. That might explain why he ran off for his dummy as well. 

“It’s so good.” Sherlock said with his mouth full. 

“I’m glad, Sherlock.” John smiles, reaching up to clean food from the corner of his mouth out of habit. Luckily, the act didn’t make Sherlock feel small, just cared for and very much loved. 

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” John replies. “We could listen to the song while we eat, if you’d like.”

“No, I want to focus when I hear it.” Sherlock says. “I want to _see_ you hear it.” 

“You’re expecting me to have a huge response to it, seems like.”

“No.” Sherlock puts his plastic sippy-cup back onto the 'table'. “I just like to see the subtle things you do when you enjoy things. I find them quite beautiful.”

John blushes and doesn’t say anything for a while, but soon they’re chattering again. Sherlock ate contently, John at his side. They talked and laughed about nearly everything until they were finished with their meal. 

John took their dishes to the sink. 

“So, you ready to listen to the song now?” John asks. 

“Yeah!” Sherlock grins, springing up from the floor. He’s fidgeting in place, and John thinks it’s because he’s just excited about the song. But, John starts to recognize it as Sherlock’s ‘pee-pee’ dance. The older hasn’t seen Sherlock do it in quite a while, because Sherlock’s just been going when he needs to, because of his nappies. 

But, now is different. He was wearing his pants. 

John was glad to see that he’s at least holding it. Though, he really should go to the toilet now before he has an accident. 

“Sherlock,” John says after putting the dishes away. 

“Hm?” Is the reply. 

“You need to _go_...?” John asks, though he knows the answer. 

“No, no...” Sherlock shakes his head. “ _Song_ , John.”

“We can listen after you-”

“Joooohn, _ugh_.” Sherlock folds his arms with a loud huff. “You’re no fun.”

“No, I’m plenty fun.” John corrects. “Sorry to break it to you, Sherlock.”

“John 'No-Fun' Watson.” Sherlock grumbles, and even though he’s acting immaturely, he’s not little. That’s just him being himself. 

“And you’re Sherlock 'Always-in-Denial' Holmes.”

“I’m not ‘always in denial’, John!”

“Then go potty.” John says, his tone fatherly. He doesn’t mean to do it, now he knows what Sherlock means by 'accidentally slipping' into the headspace. It’s hard not to, when it’s such a natural response. 

“Don’t want to.” Sherlock folds his arms tighter, his tone slipping as well. So, John just lets their nature take its course. 

“Would you like it if Daddy took you to the potty?”

Sherlock eyes John like he’s suspecting this to be a trap somehow. John rolls his eyes. 

“Love, Daddy is in no moods for tricks.” John informs him. “I just want you to do what you need to, so we can go listen to the music. Then, go do...whatever thing you have planned for us this afternoon.”

“Oh...ok, Daddy.” Sherlock takes John’s hand, leading him down the hall. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.” John smiles. 


	40. Heart Beats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teeny-tiny chapter <3

Sherlock watches John’s slight facial movements as the song plays. The facial twitches and eye movements that suggest he’s remembering something. Sherlock can tell it’s bittersweet, whatever it is. John is laying on the couch in the living room, with Sherlock draped over him. 

The baby is suckling his dummy and looking up at his daddy. It’s a very peaceful moment, and Sherlock feels like he’s melting into John. This, _this_ feeling is what Sherlock means. When he feels that their heartbeats are in sync, and there is no where else that John would want to be, than with him. 

Little Sherlock uses his gentle hands to touch John’s face, the way John does to him when he's nursing. The baby touches John's chin, his cheeks, his jaw. When Sherlock's fingers pass over his daddy's lips, John kisses each one. Sherlock giggles softly. John smiles in return. 

“The song's gonna end soon.” John whispers.

“I don’t want it to.” The little boy replies. “Stay like this.”

“We need to get ready to go soon, to the address on the fridge.” John says. “Remember?”

“Shhhh,” Sherlock lays his head on John’s chest. 

They catch the end of the song, both of them with their eyes closed and heartbeats in sync. 


	41. Truth or Dare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Chapters 34...to 41, I think?  
> Hold on...I need to check.
> 
> Yeah, ok. 34-41! That's like, eight chapters, I think? My brain quit a while ago, sorry.  
> A large update because I missed this story, and because I literally can't stop writing.  
> Sorry that it took a while, I've been really, REALLY, stressed out and busy and I'm sorry. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, talk with you all soon? Yeah? Good <3 :)  
> As always, I'll do the whole typo-checking-thing.  
> Ok, bye :D

John folds his arms as he and Sherlock stand on the curb, letting countless cabs pass without hailing them, as Sherlock had instructed. Yet, they’ve been standing outside for just under ten minutes, doing nothing. 

“So...” John shrugs. “Just a...tiny question, Sherlock?”

“Yes, John?”

“Why are we standing on the curb?”

“We’re hookers, obviously.”

“No, I’m serious.” John watches yet another cab pass. “I mean, why the bloody hell aren’t we hailing any of these cabs? I’ve _never_ seen this many pass. Even I could hail one right now.”

“Hush,” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “If you want to call a cab, be my guest.” 

“Are we going to get in it, if I hail one?”

“No, but I dare you to tell the cabbie he’s the prettiest man you’re ever seen, then slam the door.”

“ _Why_ would I do that?” John’s brow furrowed. 

“What? You’re too grown up to play ‘truth or dare’, doctor?”

“No, it’s just... _you’re_ the prettiest man I’ve ever seen, you know.” John’s voice is terribly sincere, and he glowing with a smile. 

Sherlock’s eyes widen and his lips part, then his dimples press into his cheeks as he gives a toothy, eye-crinkling grin. Every part of Sherlock’s face that could look happy, does. He looks away from John as he licks his bottom lip. His heart is fluttery and his stomach feels similarly. 

“John...” Sherlock tries to sound reprimanding. “Don’t say such things.”

“It’s true, Sherlock.”

Sherlock is about to reply when a large, unmarked black van pulls up. The window rolls down and the driver eyes them. 

“Dr. Watson, and Mr. Holmes?” The driver asks. 

John looks down at his shoes, then at Sherlock, as if he has to check to make sure that they are indeed ‘Dr. Watson and Mr. Holmes’. 

Sherlock is already climbing into the back of the shady vehicle, while John is standing firmly on the sidewalk. The driver is wearing sunglasses, and it would be hard to identify him, should they need to. 

“John, come along.” Sherlock calls from inside the van. 

“Yes,” John nods at the driver, disregarding Sherlock. “We’re Holmes and Watson.”

“Good, get in.” The driver points his thumb to the back, where Sherlock is already seated. John shrugs the backpack on his back higher, pulling the straps back into place. The backpack was acting again as Sherlock’s nappy-bag. Owl included. 

“Where are we going?” John asks the driver, hoping to get the answer out of him. He hears Sherlock groaning from inside. 

“I’ve been given rather specific orders not to share your destination with neither you, nor Mr. Holmes.” Is the driver’s reply, the man then rolls the window back up. 

John sighs, he has no choice but to get into the vehicle. Sherlock's already in it. And, where Sherlock goes, John follows.

“Please, don’t get us killed, Sherlock.” John requests as he gets into the van and takes his seat next to the detective. 

“Nonsense, John.” Sherlock is grinning, leaning passed him to pull the sliding door shut. “Nearly dying is part of the fun.”

“Are we going to nearly die on this trip?” John asks. 

"Of _course_ , you git." Sherlock replies, oozing sarcasm, then rolling his eyes playfully.

John leans over and whispers in Sherlock’s ear. “We really might die? Sounds terrifying." He comments. "Good thing this backpack is full of nappies, I might need one as well, then.”

Sherlock giggles, but it’s not in his little voice. “You’re so _silly_ , John.” He reaches over and takes John’s hand. “If we do encounter any danger, John Watson, I here by promise to protect you, as I always do...because believe it or not, you are my first priority too.”

John stares at Sherlock, blinking. _Sherlock Holmes, I’m so helplessly in love with you. Why can’t you see that?_ John only nods in return to Sherlock’s promising words. 

“Good, you’d better protect my arse.” John squeezes Sherlock’s hand. "I've damn well protected yours." 

The younger man chuckles and rolls his eyes again.  “Don’t worry, I’ll protect more than just your arse, John.”

John chuckles too, gazing out the tinted window of the van. 

“Thank you, Sherlock.” 


	42. The Ride Ahead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello!
> 
> I'm not going to whine about the reasons that this is so late. I'm sorry for the wait, forgive me?  
> I love you, hopefully things will be better soon. 
> 
> Happy Holidays, to those who celebrate. <3
> 
> TODAY: Chapters 42, 43, 44. 
> 
> I'm going to update very soon, :)  
> Bye, bye!

**_Where are you and Dr. Watson headed, Sherlock? MH_ **

**_None of your business. Somewhere your surveillance cameras cannot reach, thank god. -SH_ **

**_You don’t want me to see you, brother? I’m hurt. MH_ **

**_Stop texting me. I want to focus on my John. -SH_ **

**_You’ve said ‘your’ John. Am I to understand, that you and Dr. Watson are an item, now? Finally. MH_ **

**_Understand what you will. -SH_ **

**_Is that a smart remark due to embarrassment, or are you really trying to say that you don’t know your own feelings? MH_ **

**_What are you saying? -SH_ **

**_Do you love John? MH_ **

**_Obviously. -SH_ **

**_But...how? MH_ **

**_Goodbye, brother. -SH_ **

 

Sherlock looked over at John, to see that the doctor was already looking at him. 

“What?” Sherlock asks. 

“Who are you texting?” John inquires, casually. 

“Personal affairs, John.” Sherlock sighs. “Rude.”

“Sorry.”

“My brother.” Sherlock answers the question anyway, not that he didn’t  _want_  to tell John to begin with. Mycroft had just left him feeling strange, confused again. 

“Oh, gosh.” John rolls his eyes playfully. “What’d he want?”

“He noticed us leaving the flat.” Sherlock sighs. “Spying again.”

“Aw, he’s worried about us. That’s sweet.”

“It’s unnecessary.”

“Don’t pretend that you aren’t happy that he cares.” John reaches over and pokes the fleshy part of Sherlock’s cheek. “Come on, admit it.”

“It’s nice to know he cares, but I wish he’d do it more  _discretely_.”

“Hm, can’t argue with that.” John answers. 

John looks towards the front of the van. There is a blacked-out separation between the driver’s area, and the back of the van. The driver can’t see them, nor can he really hear them, if they kept their voices down. John was happy for the privacy partition. This would allow Sherlock to have his dummy, when he wanted it. Also, they haven’t yet, but...they could kiss...if they wanted.

“So,” John shrugs. “Is the ride ahead of us going to be a long one?”

“Somewhat.” Sherlock nods, pulling his phone out again. This time, he seems to be checking the time, because he just stares at the device without doing anything with it. 

“Is there a reason why you won’t tell me where we’re going?” John leans back in the seat. 

“John,” Sherlock says, putting his mobile away. “You begged to know, the first 15 minutes of the ride. I was glad when you dropped it, now you’re asking again.”

“ _Because_ , you basically kidnapped me.” John replies. “You told me ‘we are going somewhere, won’t tell you where, of course’ and then made me get into a strange van with a strange unidentifiable driver.”

“You got into the vehicle  _willingly_.”

“That’s...not exactly my point....”

“What is so  _wrong_  with me trying to surprise you, John?” Sherlock reaches over to smooth his hand soothingly over John’s hair. 

“U-um...” John’s eyes close at the gentle touches. “Nothing, but...” He hums contently, letting his sentence trail off.

“My silly, sweet John.” Sherlock purrs fondly. “Let me take care of  _you_  sometimes.”

John peeks one eye at him, then begins chuckling.

“What?” Sherlock raises a brow. 

“Just imagining myself calling  _you_  ‘Daddy’, that’s all.” John answers. 

“Would...you like that?” The detective’s voice is almost a whisper, like he’s afraid to speak too loudly, because it would guarantee him a ‘no’ from John. 

“N-no,” John shakes his head, closing the eye he’d been peeking at the younger male with. “Sherlock, I told you, I’m not the baby. You are.”

“Ugh,” Sherlock groans. “I know, I  _know_. But, I’d love you small.”

“I’m sure you would.” John comments. “I know you like to have the upper hand on me. That way, if I was the baby, you’d have  _complete_  upper hand, and that would just be  _soooo_ grand for you, wouldn’t it?”

“That...sounded negative, not sarcastic.” Sherlock leans his head to the side, but he hasn’t stopped petting John’s hair. “Do you think...I want you to be the baby, just to humiliate you?”

“Not...exactly.”

“John, I would  _never_  do anything directly just to hurt you.” Sherlock frowns. “Why on  _earth_  would I want to hurt my lovely doctor like that?”

“You wouldn’t.” John says. “I know, I’m sorry...I got defensive.”

“But...why?”

“I...I’m afraid that I’d  _like_  it.” John admits. “Being your baby, I mean. I don’t want to be your baby, I want you to be mine.”

“You don’t suppose that we could try it...just once?”

“Is that why we’re going on this trip?” John asks. “Is this an ‘infantilism’ persuasion thing?”

“No, this has  _nothing_  to do with being little, me or you.” Sherlock shakes his head, giving a gentle scratch to John’s scalp, the older male hums at this. “It’s  _honestly_  just a thing that I would  _really_  like to show you.”

“Hm,” John sighs. “I trust you, so I’ll let this happen.”

“Yeah?” Sherlock grins. 

“Yeah.” John nods. “But, it better be good.”

“I promise,” Sherlock keeps his grin. “You’ll enjoy this.”


	43. Collateral

“Ok,” Sherlock sits up a bit taller. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure, John?”

“Why are you asking _me_ if I’m ready?” John’s brow furrows. “You’re the one guessing the item _I’m_ thinking of.”

“Hm, you’re right.” Sherlock grins, bringing his feet up onto the seat of the van. “I’ll start, then.”

“Yup.” John nods.

“Is it a food?”

“No.”

“Is...it a tool?”

“Hm,” John presses his lips into a tight line. “ _Sometimes_.”

“Sometimes?” Sherlock repeats, deleting several things from the list of possibilities in his head. “Is it something people might use everyday?”

“Sure.”

“Yes or no, John.”

“ _Yes_.”

“Do we have some of these in our flat?”

“Several.”

“Would you find this item...in a kitchen?”

John thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “Yes.”

“Is it a cooking utensil?”

“Not so much.” John shakes his head. 

“Yes or no, John.”

“Sometimes.” John changes his answer. “You said I could use ‘sometimes’.”

“That you can, alright.” Sherlock clears his throat, then rests his chin on his knees, his nappy crinkles as he shifts a bit. “Is it small?”

“Sometimes.”

“Large?”

“Sometimes.”

“Is it edible?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it.” John chuckles, Sherlock glares a bit. “I mean, no. And, don’t you glare at me, you already asked me if it was food.”

“Do I ‘like’ these things?”

“Love them.”

“I _love_ them?” Sherlock asks. “And we have several in the flat?”

“Yup.”

“Books.” Sherlock states, John grins.

“I’m really surprised that you didn’t guess that sooner, knowing your deduction skills.” John shrugs. 

“I’m not going to be super brainy for this trip.” Sherlock replies, shrugging as well. “I’m doing, what’s called ‘relaxing’ I suppose.”

“You don’t have to relax, if you don’t want to.” John tells him. “I mean, if you’re just ‘relaxing’ to make me happy...don’t worry about it.”

“I’m...doing it for me, I think.” Sherlock frowns. “I’m not entirely sure.”

John gives a slight laugh at this. “How can you not tell?”

“I feel like I _should_ relax, for this outing.” Sherlock explains. “But, I don’t know why that is.” He looks at John. “Does that make sense?”

“Sure.” John nods. “It makes plenty of sense.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh.” John looks towards the front of the van. There is a blacked-out separation between the driver’s area, and the back of the van. The driver can’t see them, nor can he really hear them. John was happy for the privacy partition. This would allow Sherlock to have his dummy, when he wanted it. Also, they haven’t yet, but...they could kiss...if they wanted.

“How do I relax, John?” Sherlock looks to the older man for guidance, which John is still surprised about every time it happens. 

“You know...loosen up.” John raises and lowers his shoulder, an example of his body going limp. 

“Shrugging?” Sherlock mirrors John’s action. The older shakes his head, laughing. 

“No...I was -- never mind.” John thinks. “I’ve seen you relax...when you were little. You’d stretch out with your dummy, and just ‘be’.”

“John, I’ve told you,” Sherlock lowers his feet from the seat. “That just ‘being’ is very difficult, when I’m big.”

“I know, because you think too much.” John reaches forward, and pokes Sherlock between the eyes, making them cross. 

“I’m aware,” Sherlock responds, crinkling his nose as he is poked. “It’s rather annoying...thinking so much, all the time.” He’s quiet for a moment. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“John...the day that you had to help me be big, to do that case...I was crying so hard, because I was afraid.” Sherlock admits. “I am not confident as I like to pretend. Sometimes, I get so afraid, that I’ll mess up one day. That I’ll get something _so_ wrong, that everyone loses faith in me. And, that I’ll realize that I’m not as smart as I think I am.”

John wonders why he’s brought that up. The last time Sherlock brought something up out of the blue, he was reaching out for John. Trying to get John to understand that he was trying to open up. That was about the infantilism, his little side. But, this was about ‘big’ sherlock, this time, Sherlock was trying to show John that he’s cowardly, weak. Well, he’s _not_. Not in John’s opinion.

“Bollocks.” John declares. 

“What?” Sherlock frowns. “John...that wasn’t bollocks. I was telling you how I really, truly felt.”

“No, not _that_.” John grins fondly at the detective. “It’s complete bollocks, what you say about yourself being a ‘sociopath’.”

“John...”

“You’re the most caring person on the planet. You care so much, about _everything_.” John runs a hand over Sherlock’s curls. “You just don’t let anyone know. You keep it all inside and-” John stops talking when he notices that Sherlock is extremely emotional now. The younger doesn’t try to hide his lower lip quivering. Again, John had worked himself inside of Sherlock, finding the place he keeps his emotions locked away, and the fragile dam within. John has broken it. 

Sherlock sniffles, a few tears running down his face. 

_Real tears_ , John thinks. _These are real...‘big Sherlock’ tears. They’re beautiful, but so painful. I want to take them away from him, but cherish them all at the same time._

“It’s so hard J-John, to be so high and mighty all the time. I hold it together, I put on the masks. But...underneath it all, I’m so-”

“Human.” John finished the sentence before Sherlock has a chance to say anything negative about himself. “You’re human, damn it. You’re human. Why do feel that you have to pretend you’re not?”

“No one would like me, if I was average.”

“No one likes you now, because they think you’re trying to always be ‘better’ than everyone.” John says. “I know it sounds like I’m being cruel, but I’m just telling you the truth.”

Sherlock reaches his hand up to wipe his eyes. 

“No, _me_.” John pats Sherlock’s hand away, and wipes the detective’s tears. “But, there are people who do like you as well. Me, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Mycroft, we love you. And there are others quite fond of you as well. You have _lots_ of fans who appreciate your intellect, the way you _are_.” John smiles. “You’re not pretending to be smart, you really are a genius. Never doubt that. However, you _are_ just pretending not to have flaws...and flaws are human.”

“But...”

“No ‘buts’.” John takes his hand from Sherlock’s curls. “Can I tell you something?”

“No.”

“C’mon, Sherlock.” John rolls his eyes playfully. “Lemme tell you something.”

“Why?”

“Because...I want to tell you something? What kind of question is that.” John shakes him a bit. “Stop bloody stalling, it’s important.”

Sherlock sighs in defeat. “Fine.”

“I like _this_ Sherlock, better than the one who acts like he’s perfect all the time.” John states. 

“W-what?”

“I like the one who’s soft, fleshier. More human, more honest. More _vulnerable_.” John nods. “I think he’s perfect.”

“John...I’m so weak.”

“So warm.”

“Horribly unsociable.” Sherlock continues.

“Horribly sappy.” Says John.

“Needy.”

“Cuddly.” John replies.

John chewed up every negative word Sherlock said, replacing it with a lovely comment. 

“I’m a mess.” Sherlock declares.

“ _My_ mess.” John grins. “Sherlock, how many times do I have to say that I think you’re the best thing in my life, before you get it?”

“Best?” Sherlock’s eyebrows come together. 

“ _The_ best.”

“Better than jumpers?”

John chuckles. “You’re better than all my jumpers combined into one giant ugly jumper.”

“The ugliest?”

“Indeed.” John grins, but Sherlock doesn’t. He’s studying John, with a gentle expression on his face. It’s nearly a smile.

“Why are you...doing this?” Sherlock asks.

“What?”

“Being...kind.” He avoids John’s eyes.

“Because, I really do mean everything I’ve said.”

“But, why?”

“Because...I love you.” John admits, taking his eyes away from Sherlock’s face. 

“How so?”

“We went over this earlier.” John folds his arms. “I’m not telling you.”

“But, it’d make me so very happy, John.” Sherlock pouts. 

“Figure it out, and then you’ll know.”

“Bully.”

“I’m not being a bully.” John shakes his head.

“May I have a kiss, then?” Sherlock leans his head to the side. 

John looks at the man in front of him. The older male is thinking back to the times when they’d kissed, specifically the times that Sherlock had _asked_ to be kissed. Like he is asking currently. He realizes now, that Sherlock was indirectly asking to be John’s.

The detective is asking to feel like John’s. Just for a moment. 

With a sigh, John shakes his head again. “Nah, no kisses for you.”

“ _What_?” Sherlock jaw falls open. “Why the bloody hell not?”

“Not until we get to our destination, _or_ you could just tell me where we’re going, and I’ll kiss you now.” John’s using the kiss as collateral. 

“Fine, then no kisses, and no knowing the destination for you.” Sherlock folded his arms and turns away dramatically from John. “But...thanks.”

“Huh?”

“Even though I’m...horribly insecure and fragile and...a mess, you still care for me and...it’s amazing, thank you.”

John looks at Sherlock for a while, before simply leaning his head on the younger’s shoulder. _I love you, Sherlock_. 


	44. My, Oh My...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!
> 
>  
> 
> So, I'm sorry for just giving you chapters 42, 43 and 44 today. That's three chapters, and they aren't far too long. 
> 
> But, I'm just tired of leaving you all hanging with absolutely NOTHING. So, I'm giving you something NOW. But, there is so much more to come. Don't worry :)
> 
> Thank you all for being so patient with me, and being continually supportive. I'm going to update very soon!
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> Also, I'm being vague about where they're going on purpose! (^_^)"/"  
> Enjoy your suspense ;D

At some point, after John curled up against Sherlock, the doctor must’ve fallen asleep. When he awoke, Sherlock was suckling his dummy and holding his owl. He was little. 

The boy was holding the owl very close to his face. And, he was talking to it. 

“I don’t wanna tell Daddy that, My.” Sherlock says quietly. “He might get mad.” 

_My_? John thinks.  _He’s calling the owl ‘My’ like....short for Mycroft? Has he named it after his brother?_  John holds back a chuckle. 

“That’s what I thought...but Daddy won’t like that.” Sherlock shakes his head. “Daddy doesn’t want me to do that, My.”

“Do what?” John sits up, the boy gasps. 

“John?” The little boy yelps his Daddy’s name. John’s never heard Sherlock say his name when he was in his little space. Apparently John’s caught him  _really_ off guard. “I mean...Daddy, you scared me.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” John grins. “Were you plotting with My?”

“You heard...my owl’s name?”

“Yes, I’m sorry.” John says. “I wasn’t snooping, I just woke up.”

“Oh...”

“I won’t call your owl by his name if you don’t want me to.”

“Not  _his_.” Sherlock scrunched up his face. 

“Huh?”

“That’s not...how My likes to be addressed. No ‘he’ or ‘she’ or anything.” Sherlock says. “Because, My isn’t those things, My is just an owl.”

“I see, I apologize, My.” John pets the owl’s feathers. 

“Thank you, Daddy.” Sherlock seems pleased. “My likes that.”

“I’m glad.” John looks at his baby, then the owl. “Is ‘My’ short for ‘Mycroft’?”

Sherlock blushes, then shakes his head. “No, it’s just My.”

“But, did you name My after your brother?”

Sherlock brings the owl close to him, pressing his cheek into the owl’s body. He nods slowly. “Yes.” He says in a small, innocent voice.  _So cute_. 

“That’s very sweet of you, Sherlock.” John smiles. “Does brother know?”

“No.” Sherlock shakes his head. “Not telling brother.”

“Why not?”

“He laugh.” Sherlock lets the dummy fall from his mouth, it’s attached to a clip. Sherlock must’ve put the clip on himself.

“What?” John looks surprised. “I don’t think he’d laugh at you.”

“Yes.” Sherlock nods. “He laugh.”

“I don’t think so.” John shrugs. “But, it’s up to you and-” John stops short when he looks out the window. “Where the  _hell_  are we?” He accidentally curses in front of the baby. But, Sherlock doesn’t seemed bothered by it. 

“Oh!” Sherlock sits up all the way in the seat. “Almost there!”

“Almost  _where_ , though?” John stares out the window, realizing he’s somewhere he’s never been before. The area around them was grassy land, some areas flat, others hilly. There were a few trees here and there. “Why are we in the middle of  _nowhere_?”

“There’s somewhere I’d like to show you, Daddy.”


	45. Make Room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello!
> 
> I hope you all have been enjoying the holidays, for those who celebrate!  
> To everyone, however, I'd like to say that I hope you all are enjoying the last few days of 2014.  
> And, I have literally never seen a year go by so quickly. But, spending the last of the year sharing this story with you all has been and will continue to be (literally) one of my greatest joys! 
> 
> So, enjoy chapters 45-52
> 
> CHAPTER 45 KEY: 
> 
> \- the bolded bullet points are quotes, passages from conversations that relate to Sherlock/John's relationship  
> \- italicized passages are thoughts, mind palace 'monolougue' from Sherlock  
> \- the 'blockquote' part is Sherlock organizing words in his mind palace (it's like, in the part of the show, where Sherlock is carding through the words and they're shown floating around in front of him...does that make sense? This entire chapter is confusing, I know and I'm sorry. It makes sense in my head, feel free to yell at me!)

Little Sherlock disappeared as they continued the drive to their destination. He said goodbye to his owl, kissing its forehead, then its beak. He put the owl and his dummy into his nappy-bag. Then, he dismissed himself into his mind palace. 

 

_I’ve made a new room, in my mind palace. A room just for all the confused feelings, in regards to John. His words echo off the walls here, sometimes. Even our entire conversations, at times._

 

  * **“What are we?”**



_He’d asked me that quetion, almost like he didn’t want me to answer it. He said it...in a way, that children ask about death. I remember the first time I saw something dead. It was a fish, washed up on the beach. Mycroft and I were alone, ventured off from our parents. When I saw the fish, Mycroft told me not to go near it, I didn’t know why. However, he poked it with a stick, and I noticed it was very limp, smelly. But, fish are smelly anyway. I’d never seen a dead thing before, unless it was a cartoon, with x’s drawn over the eyes. I didn’t really fancy cartoons, because Mycroft said that they would make me an idiot._

_But...back to the fish. When Mycroft poked it, with a very tentitive voice, I asked him ‘Is it...dead?’ and Mycroft only nodded. Of course it was dead, fish need water, it wasn’t in water, so what else could it be? How likely would it have been, for Mycroft and I to find the first ever magical land-fish?_

_Still...John’s question. ‘What are we?’_

_As soon as he’d asked it, I knew I was in trouble. I knew something about us had changed. There would be no reason for him to ask such a thing, if everything was the same._

_Usually, I’d be ‘Sherlock’ and he would be ‘John’ and...we’d solve crimes, I’d forget my pants, and he’d blog about it._

_But that wasn’t the case anymore. John had to ask, because something had changed. What changed?_

_What_ **_changed_ ** _? Why would he ask me that?_

 

Sherlock holds up his hands, carding through the terms in his mind palace. 

_What changed?_

> Change, to make or become different. 
> 
> Adjust, adapt, alter. Modify, revise, refine. Transform, redesign, evolve. 
> 
> _**Evolve**. That...is that close? It feels almost right. _
> 
> _To evolve, feels closer to what happened to John and I._
> 
> Evolve,  develop gradually, especially from a simple to a more complex form. 

_Exactly, exactly. It happened_ **_abruptly_ ** _, after we became...so much closer. But, I believe we were always gradually working towards this, always evolving into...this. Everyone else could see it, see_ **_us_ ** _. But, what is it that they’re seeing? Our undeniable bond? Yes, but...why can’t I see...what everyone else is?_

 

  * **“I...haven’t realized what?”**

**“That you love me, the way I love you.”**

**“But...how do you love me?”**




_Why won’t he just tell me? It’d be so much_ ** _easier_ ** _. Neither of us will have to feel this...emptiness. Or is that bit just me?_

_John wouldn’t keep something from me, unless...it was to protect me. Or...protect himself. He did say that he was afraid that I’d ‘Sherlock’ everything, and that I’d say it was just his flaw._

_But...I want this too. Can’t he see that? Why can everyone see everything other than what they_ **_should_ ** _be seeing? For god’s sake, I don’t understand!_

 

  * **“Why is it so hard for you?” John raises his voice. “If we both want to be together, how can you not see why that is!?”**



  
_I don’t_ **_know_ ** _why it’s so hard, John! Can’t you see that I’m trying? I’m even_ **_begging you_ ** _for help on this, which I never do with nearly anything. So, that right there should be sign enough that I..._

_John...do I..._

_If you love me..._

_Then...is it possible that...in such a way, I could-_

 

  * **Do you love John? MH**
  * **Obviously. -SH**
  * **But...how? MH**



 

_Piss off, Mycroft. This room is for John and-_

_Wait...that’s_ ** _the question_** _, brother. ‘But how?’_

_How does he love me? What am I not seeing?_

_Maybe...I don’t see it, because I’ve taught myself how_ **_not_ ** _to see it. Because...I’ve viewed it as a_ **_human er_ ** _-_

 

“Sherlock?” John shakes the detective’s shoulder. “The driver says we’re moments from arrival.”

“You didn’t  _have_  to tell me that. I don’t care. If we haven’t yet arrived, John, don’t bother me.” Sherlock hisses. He’s annoyed, he thinks he was on to something in his mind palace. But, now the momentum is gone, and he’s lost that train of thought. Now, he’s on to the next thing. 

However, when he sees the hurt look on John’s face, Sherlock feels bad for lashing out. 

“I’m sorry.” Sherlock reaches a hand up and touches John’s face, the older just continues to look upset. “Damn it, John. I really didn’t mean it. I was just-”

“No, no.” John shakes his head. “I know better than to bother you when you’re in your mind palace. I had just forgotten, I thought you were sleeping or something.”

“Oh...” Sherlock nods. “I understand.”

“Mhm.”

“Am I forgiven, for lashing out?”

“Yes.” John gives a small unwounded smile, and Sherlock relaxes, sighing with relief.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, Sherlock.” John says, turning to look out the window. There is still  _nothingness_  everywhere, and John is still confused as to where they might be going. But, he’s not as concerned. He’s very much looking forward to...whatever it was. 

“John,” Sherlock says suddenly. 

“Yes?”

“If we get there,” Sherlock begins. “And, you don’t like it. We can leave.”

John blinks a few times. He hadn’t considered possibly  _disliking_...wherever they were going. 

“Oh...well, alright.” John leans back into the seat, and closes his eyes. Not to sleep, just to relax a bit, before  _whatever_  it is that Sherlock has planned for them. He feels weight on his side as Sherlock lays against him. 

_He’s big, and he’s somewhat cuddling with me_. John thinks happily. It reminds him of the night they ordered the takeaway. 

Sherlock had his arms around John the entire time before and during John ordering their food. While they waited for it to arrive, John and Sherlock stayed on the sofa, John still wrapped in Sherlock’s arms. The detective had asked John to kiss when they got to the couch, and they did. They were slow, soft kisses. The kind that you lose track of time with. When they finally stopped, it was because the food had arrived and Sherlock splayed himself across the sofa unhappily when John went to go pay for the it. 

John let himself smile, for the remainder of the ride, with Sherlock resting against him. And, when the van stopped, John looked out the window, to see where they’ve arrived. 

He doesn’t know  _why_ he’s so surprised. It’s something so obscenely  _normal_ , that John doesn’t believe that this is what Sherlock wanted to show him. Why would Sherlock want to show him  _this_?


	46. Completely, Entirely

“A _house_?” John looks at Sherlock who was still resting against him, the detective nods.

“Mhm.” Sherlock looks up at John. “It’s a small home, stone exterior, wooden interior. Made to look much older than it is, modern appliances, a fine abode.”

“Who’s house is it?” John raises an eyebrow as the younger climbs over him to get out. “Why are we at a house? Is it yours?”

“No, not mine.” Sherlock slides opens the door and hops out. “C’mon, John.”

John rolls his eyes. “So, what? We’re breaking into this house?” John realizes how casually he’s asked the question, simply because they had broken into houses together before...well, for cases, anyway. However, John’s question is ignored, Sherlock only huffs in response. “So you’re not telling me anything about the house, then?”

“Just c’mon, John” Sherlock calls from outside the van.

Again, John rolls his eyes. “We finally _arrive_ at the damn place, and he _still_ won’t tell me a bloody thing.”

“What are you grumbling about in there _now_?” Sherlock sounds even more annoyed. “Hurry up!”

“Yeah, yeah! I am, I am.” John picks up the nappy-bag and follows Sherlock to where he stood. The detective is eyeing the driver, arms behind his back.

John looked over his shoulder at the house.

It was tall enough to suggest that there was more than one floor. The house didn’t even look _real_ it was so simplistically beautiful, that John imagined it to only be in storybooks. 

“I hope you enjoyed the ride, Mr. Holmes.” The driver says through the open window. 

“Yes, thank you.” Sherlock says, wrapping an arm, almost possessively around John’s shoulder. This caused the doctor to face forward again and stop looking at the house. The brunette gave John’s shoulder a squeeze. _What was Sherlock doing?_

“Is there anything else you’d need?” The man behind the wheel asks. Sherlock looks like he’s thinking, as he continues to hold John. 

“Does my brother know we’ve arrived?” Sherlock sighs.

“Of course, this _is_ his house.” The man nods, pushing his sunglasses up further on the bridge of his nose.

“Ghastly, my brother is.” Sherlock turns away from the driver. “Good day.”

“Yes,” The driver nods again. “Good day Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson.” And with that, he pulls off, back towards civilization. When the van is out of sight, Sherlock lets John go. And, John was about to ask why Sherlock had held him like that, so _purposefully_. But, he remembers what he wanted to ask Sherlock beforehand, when they turned to face the home.

John is standing, clutching the backpack to his chest. He’s staring up at the beautiful stone house. “This is _Mycroft’s_ house?”

“Not quite, he doesn’t _live_ here.” Sherlock begins walking up the paved path towards the home. “You’ve been to Mycroft’s estate.” 

John follows him up the path. “Then, why did the driver say-”

“I’m going to tell you a story, John.” Sherlock pulls a set of keys from his coat pocket, and inserts one into the lock, opening the door. 

“My _god_.” John comments as they enter the home. It was far more spacious inside than it appeared from the outside. There was gorgeous wooden interior. It was well furnished, decorated. If this house wasn’t in the middle of damned nowhere, John would adore living here.

“Last year, Mycroft purchased this home.” Sherlock began the story. “There are three bedrooms, three bathrooms. One bathroom on the ground floor, two upstairs _including_ the master bath.”

“Wow, nice.”

“This home is large enough for Mycroft, yes.” Sherlock says. “But, why, John...would there be two _other_ bedrooms? And so many bathrooms?”

“Well...Mycroft lives alone at the large estate he’s at now...so, maybe he just likes the extra space?”

“No, no.” Sherlock shakes his head. “Pretend that Mycroft isn’t _Mycroft_.”

“Well...a person would want a bigger home...to accommodate more people?”

“Yes, John.” Sherlock nods. “That’s right.”

“So, Mycroft...was living with someone here, then?”

“He was _going_ to.”

“But...he hates people more than you do.”

“Exactly.” Sherlock follows John’s exploration of the home. 

The living room had a large floor to ceiling length window, looking over the expansive surrounding area. It let in a brilliant amount of sunlight, along with the nice view. It almost felt like bringing the outdoors inside. 

Also, in the living room, was a modern styled fireplace, two sofas and a television. As well as a piano, it made John wish he could play. Maybe Sherlock could. He can do everything else. 

“Anyway,” Sherlock continues. “John, since you seem to be having a hard time filling in my blanks-”

“Ha! _Filling_ in your _blanks_.” John giggles at the naughty sounding words.

“Juvenile, John.”

“Sorry, continue.”

“Mycroft was in love.” Sherlock announces, and John is shocked into a coughing fit. 

“He was _what_?” John croaks. 

“He’d fallen in love with a woman, and they were quite serious.” Sherlock says. “He purchased this home for them. Somewhere secluded, yet elegant where they could live peacefully.”

“Why didn’t he tell anyone?” 

“He didn’t want anyone to know that he’d given in to something so _human_.” Sherlock shudders at the thought of falling in love. “I don’t blame him, that must’ve been _tragic_.”

“Yup.” John says dryly, staring at the clueless detective. It takes everything in him not to say ‘you are in love yourself, you idiot’ but he manages not to say it. “It _certainly_ would suck to fall in love, wouldn’t it?” The amount of sarcasm John is dishing out could _slay_ right now.

“Oh, absolutely.” Sherlock nods, the most serious of looks on his face. “It’s far too dangerous, time consuming...just a bad deal, all in all.”

“Mhm.” John sighs. _At least we’re out in the middle of nowhere, and no one would hear you cry for help when I attempt to strangle some sense into you._ He thinks. 

“Moving on,” Sherlock clears his throat. “He’d planned to marry secretly, and they’d live out here together. Have a family.”

“Why didn’t it happen?”

“He feared too much for her safety.” Sherlock says. “He knew if any enemies found out, she’d be a quick target...he spent more time worrying than loving her and she grew tired of it, and left.”

_She got tired of waiting?_ John frowns. _What if I get tired too? And I let my impatientness get the best of me...and I lose Sherlock?_

“So, Mycroft has kept the house, but he doesn’t spend time here.” Sherlock finishes story-time, looking at John.

“Enthralling tale, Sherlock. But, why would you want to show me this?”

Sherlock is avoiding John’s eyes now.

“I thought you’d...like to spend time with _me_ here.” He says.

John couldn’t tell why Sherlock put so much emphasis on the ‘me’ part of the sentence just then. 

“What are you trying to say, Sherlock?”

“I’m _saying_ , John...that we could be alone here.” He says. “Completely, entirely.”

“And do what?”

“ _Anything_ , I don’t know.” Sherlock sighs. “Maybe this was a silly idea.”

“No, it’s not.” John smiles. “I do _love_ this house, and the location is breathtaking, and I’d love to be alone with you. I’m just...my mind isn’t in the right place, sorry.”

“Well, where _is_ your mind?”

“It’s just...usually, adults go away to places like this _alone_  for...romantic reasons and I-”

“Romantic?” Sherlock leans his head to the side. 

“Yeah, and...I’d like to know what _you_ want to do while we’re here.” John says. “Because, I’m sure it’s different than where my impure mind is going.”

“Huh?”

“What did you imagine us doing here, Sherlock?”

“Just relaxing.” Sherlock shrugs. “No doubt Mycroft has left behind some lovely wine. I’ve asked one of his people to stock the kitchen, we could cook a nice meal.”

“So, you plan to be big this entire time?”

“No, not the _entire_ time, but...whatever you’d like is fine.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it _does_. Stop being so passive!” Sherlock raises his voice. “We’re _alone_ John, you don’t have to be afraid to tell me what would make you happy! Never be afraid to tell me what would make you happy, whether we’re alone or not!”

“I want you to be big for now, I miss it.” John answers. “I miss when we’d spend time together while you’re big. But, I also want my little boy. It’s complicated!”

“What do you want right now?”

“I want you to be big, and show me around this gorgeous house some more, please.”

“I can do that for you.” Sherlock offers John his gloved hand. John takes it.


	47. Without a Plan

Everything was beautiful, large windows in nearly every room. The view was incredible, calming to look at. There was a terrace, on the back side of the house. John thought it’d be lovely to sip their wine out there, when the time came for it. 

The bedrooms upstairs were also furnished wonderfully. The master bedroom had an enormous comfortable bed, that John couldn’t help but throw himself onto. He moaned deeply as his body meshed into the glorious bed. 

Sherlock watched John, shrugged, and followed suit. He threw himself onto the bed next to John, grinning as he did so. The older male rolled over to face Sherlock, taking a hand to the detective’s face to bring him in for a quick kiss. It had surprised Sherlock, he froze. 

John didn’t notice the younger’s shock, as the doctor sprang back up onto his feet. 

“This house is _amazing_ , Sherlock.” John comments happily. “Mycroft has lovely tastes in homes.”

“I agree.” Sherlock sits up on the bed to watch John flit around the large room. “What would you like to do first?”

“We could -- oh my _god_ , Sherlock!” John yells from the master bathroom, and Sherlock gets up and sprints to him. Suspecting to find a dead body, or something exciting like that, because John sounds extremely gleeful. 

“What, what, what?” Sherlock asks as he enters the bathroom. “Aw,” Sherlock pouts, when he sees John laying down in the center of a very large bathtub. “What the hell, John? Why’ve you called me in here?”

“Do you _not_ see how huge this bath is?”

“Yeah, so?” Sherlock shrugs. “Mycroft had it installed so he could share a bath with -- his...almost partner.”

“I know, I know! But... _we_ could do that.” John sits up and stretches out both arms. “I mean, this is _huge_.”

“John, you’re a child.” Sherlock sits on the rim of the tub, and...John actually does look like a child. A tiny child, in a full sized bath. 

“No, I’m not. I’m just giddy...and tiny.” John says, rising from the bathtub and climbing out. “Whether you join me or not, I am _so_ spending ages in that bath.” John points across tub, where some expensive soaps reside. “Lots of bubbles.”

“John...” Sherlock looks at the man standing in front of him. 

“Fine, maybe not... _loads_ of bubbles, but...still.” John tugs on Sherlock’s arm. “You _have_ to join me!” 

“You are honestly being a little right now, Johnny. It’s amusing.” Sherlock smirks. 

“I’m _not_ little!” The doctor’s voice goes up a pitch as he begins to argue with Sherlock, not because he’s...little. “Stop saying that!”

“Ok, calm down.” Sherlock continues to smirk. “No need for a tantrum, John.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” John folds his arms. “What do you want to do first?”

“Dunno, and I asked you that first.” Sherlock looks at his watch. “Two hours into the afternoon.”

“Yeah.”

“We ate before we left, and I’m not really hungry...”

“Uh-huh.”

“Want to...go for a walk, or something?” Sherlock shrugs. “I thought you’d have more ideas, other than a bath.”

“Hm,” John thinks. “Too early for wine, yeah?”

“I think so.”

“How could you bring us here without a plan?” John sits on the rim next to him. 

“You’re usually in charge of us now,” Sherlock shrugs. “I guess I lost my footing and-”

“Hey,” John bumps Sherlock with his elbow. “It’s alright, I could hear the apology coming, you don’t have to apologize, silly.”

“Then, what do I do John?” Sherlock asks. “I don’t have a plan.”

“Wanna go look in the fridge?” John suggests.

“I thought we weren’t cooking until later?”

“Well, we’re not.” John stands up. “But we’ll get an idea about what we could cook.”

“True,” Sherlock pet John’s head before standing. “Smart, John.”

“You too, mate.”


	48. Taste

John went about the large kitchen, opening and closing everything. Sherlock had sat himself up on the counter, watching the doctor mill about the room, instead of helping. Not that John expected him too. 

“I’m sure you’re tired of pasta by now.” John looks over his shoulder at Sherlock. 

“Why would I be?” Sherlock arches a brow. 

“Not _recently_ , but...before little time and everything, I used to make it for you kind of often.” John says. “It was the only thing I could get you to eat.”

“If I like it, why would I grow tired of it?”

“I love blueberries, but I’d grow tired of them if I had to eat them all the damn time.” John says, holding up a carton of blueberries from inside the fridge.

“Oooh, blueberries.” Sherlock kicks his long legs, the act seems childish, but he’s still quite big. 

“You want?” John shakes the carton gently.

“Yeah, please?” Sherlock continues kicking his legs. 

“Alright, hold on.” John puts them on the counter, looking around the other things in the fridge. “Fruits, veg.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Meats, cheeses...wow, there’s so much stuff.” John comments. “How bloody long do they think we’re staying?”

“Hm, maybe we should move in.”

“Can we? Dear god, it’s beautiful.”

“Do you really want to leave 221B?” Sherlock’s voice sounded a bit saddened at the idea. Again, John looked over his shoulder and at Sherlock. 

“Fuck no, don’t be an idiot, Sherlock.” John chuckles, and Sherlock lets a relieved smile pass over his face. “I don’t want to leave our flat...permanently. But, let’s live here every weekend or something.” He’s half joking. 

“We can come back sometime, sure.”

“Good.” John looks back into the fridge. “There’s juice and stuff, too.”

“Nice.” Sherlock nods, still eyeing the blueberries. “Want blueberries.” His speech pattern is little, though his voice is not. John’s not sure which part of him wants to respond to that, his fatherly side or his ‘plain old John’ side.

“Are you ok?” John says, and it slips out a bit more accusative than he wanted it to. 

Sherlock’s eyebrows knit. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re...talking like you’re little, but...you’re not.”

“Am I?” Sherlock tilts his head. 

“Yeah.” John closes the fridge, and opens the freezer. 

“Sorry.”

“No...I don’t want you to apologize.” John says, looking at ice-lollies. “I just want you to tell me...if anything is up, that’s all.”

“Nothing is ‘up’, I don’t think.” Sherlock replies, shifting a bit on the counter. 

“Alright, well...that’s good then.” John nods, eyeing a pint of vanilla ice cream before closing the freezer door. “I’m gonna wash these berries, then...we can eat them outside?”

“While we go on our walk?”

“Oh, you still wanted to do that?” John asks. 

“If you don’t mind.” Sherlock kicks his legs again. 

“Sure, I don’t mind.” John washes the fruit in the sink, grabbing a few paper towels to hold under the carton to keep the slots at the bottom from leaking water into the floor. 

The tawny haired man approaches Sherlock at the counter, and he stands between the ‘V’ of the detective’s parted legs. The younger male smiles down at John, and he opens his mouth. John is unsure as to what he wants until he remembers he’s holding the carton of blueberries in his hand. 

“Ah, I see.” John murmurs as he pops a blueberry into Sherlock’s mouth. The detective chews happily. 

“Thank you.” Sherlock says after swallowing. 

“Sure.” John nods, keeping his eyes locked on Sherlock’s, their eye contact saying something neither of them quite understood. Suddenly, John speaks again. “How’s it taste?”

Sherlock lets his brow furrow, before he chuckles. “You have an entire carton right there, why don’t you find out for yourself?”

“Find out for myself?”

“Yes, John.” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Silly.”

“Fine, I’ll have a taste myself, then.” John puts the carton down on the counter and leans closer to Sherlock. 

“John...” Sherlock says before the doctor connects their mouths. With Sherlock’s lips already parted from surprise, John didn’t have to use much effort to push his tongue between them. The older male felt Sherlock’s open legs stutter at the intrusion. 

The detective didn’t respond much with his own tongue, but let the doctor’s tongue explore his, tasting. Again, Sherlock’s legs fluttered. But, he pulls back when John’s hand moves to his thigh. 

“Wait...” Sherlock says shyly. “I...um, John?”

“Hm?” John doesn’t know where the sudden urge is coming from, maybe it’s being... _entirely_ alone with Sherlock. Maybe it’s because the detective is just so beautiful. Whatever it is, John suddenly just wants to kiss him everywhere. 

They probably should go for a walk, John could use the distraction, the fresh air. 

But, he _is_ distracted by the suddenly extremely hesitant voice Sherlock is using. 

“Sorry,” John apologizes before Sherlock can say anything more. “I...don’t know what came over me.” He moves to step away from Sherlock, but the younger holds him in place. 

“Don’t move, just...wait.” Sherlock’s voice is firm, his face is relaxed. However, he is a bit rouge. “I was thinking earlier, in the van.”

“Alright...?”

“About you, about us.” Sherlock chews his bottom lip. “And, I just want you to be prepared.”

“Oh god, prepared for _what_?”

“I don’t know.” Sherlock lets go of John and holds his finger tips to his own temple. “I lost the train of thought, but...I _know_ that something is different about us. And, I’m so close to figuring out what.”

“And then what happens when you do?”

“If I find out what I’m feeling, what _we’re_ feeling, will you be with me?” Sherlock tilts his head to the side and looks expectantly at John. The doctor’s lips part and he stares back at Sherlock. 

John was so worried that he’d have to wait, _eons_ until Sherlock understood his feelings. He’d doubted the detective it seems. Which is silly, because Sherlock’s a genius, of course he could figure this out!

The doctor grins and nods enthusiastically. “Yes, yes of course, Sherlock!” John beams. “Of course I’ll be with you, when you’re ready.”

“I’m ready _now_ , though.”

“No, don’t ruin this, shut up.” John scolds. “I _meant_ , when you understand.”

“Oh...” Sherlock frowns and sighs angrily. “One step forward, two steps back, Johnny.”

“Yes, exactly.”


	49. Casually Dressed

The blueberries were finished before the walk began, and the carton was tossed into the recycling bin. John gathered the nappy bag for their stroll, while Sherlock went off to change his clothes. The older wasn’t sure why Sherlock would want to change, but...they _were_ going for a walk. And, Sherlock’s impeccable clothing wasn’t the best thing for going trekking in the nature. However John quickly realized that he’d never seen Sherlock dress like _this_ before. A pair of corduroy shorts, they were a red wine color, and a zaffre blue tshirt. Also, a pair of trainers. John had _never_ seen Sherlock dressed so casually. 

The doctor asked Sherlock when he’d packed clothes. Sherlock announced that he’d had clothing sent to the location the previous day, then called John unobservant. John tries hard to think of a time that Sherlock could’ve sent away clothing for the two of them, but John couldn’t. However, he remembers that they’d been at his work all day, and it would’ve been easy for Sherlock to arrange someone to come pick up their clothing from the flat then. 

As they took their walk, Sherlock was little. Running ahead up the dirt path. He kept talking about the different type of grasses here, versus in the city. Which, John thought was an awful lot of information for a little boy to have. It was clear that Sherlock wasn’t teeny tiny, but more of a toddler or little boy age. He certainly wasn’t a baby at the moment. 

It was strange, not having to hide the littleness from anyone. John was so used to worrying that their secret might become exposed, but they had nothing to worry about here. Sherlock could yelp as loudly as he wanted, and run about childishly, and he did so without shame. 

“Daddy!” Sherlock stopped running and turned to John, who wasn’t moving quickly enough, as Sherlock kept telling him. 

“Yes, bug?”

“There’s a pond up ahead!” Sherlock informs him. “Can we go see if there are any fish in it?”

“Sure, run along. I’ll catch up.” John waved his hand, but Sherlock stood his ground. 

“Nope,” Sherlock says and stands patiently. When John finally approaches, the boy wraps an arm around John’s. “Wait for Daddy.”

“Aw,” John pets the boy’s arm. “You’re such a good boy, Sherlock.”

“Yes.” Sherlock confirms, then begins moving again quickly, dragging John behind him. 


	50. Let's Pretend

John had watched as the little boy stripped himself of his shoes and socks, in order to wade in the pond, much to John’s concern. 

“Sherlock...we don’t know what the biological quality of that water is.” John winces as the boy sticks his feet into the clear-enough water. “There could be leeches in that pond...snakes....bitey things.”

“Experiment, Daddy?” Sherlock asks, pointing to the water. 

“Scientists are going to experiment on _you_ when you grow gills and scales from being bitten by a mutated fish or something in there.”

Sherlock only giggles in response.

“Do you see anything swimming around in there?” John stands at the water’s edge, peering into the pond himself. “I’m serious, Sherlock.”

“Fish.” Sherlock replies. 

“What kind of fish?”

“Orange.” Sherlock says the fish’s color. “Oh, snail.” Sherlock wades across the pond, to an area of aquatic plant-life, where who knows what else besides snails live. 

“Sherlock...do be careful, that water could get unexpectedly deeper and-”

“Daddy, snail!” Sherlock reaches forward and pokes the being’s hard shell. “Pick up?”

“I...really don’t care if you pick it up.” John shrugs. “Just for god’s sake, be careful.”

“Ok.” Sherlock responds. “Wanna see?”

“Huh?” John looks at the boy, holding a hand to his jaw. He hadn’t been listening right then, instead, worrying endlessly. 

“Come see snail, Daddy.”

“Why don’t you bring it _here_?” John tries this as a ploy to get the boy out of the water, to look at the skin on his calves. To see if they’re any lifeforms trying to burrow into Sherlock’s flesh and -- _wow_ John was worrying so much. 

Sherlock wades out of the pond, with the snail in his hands. He’s holding it very kindly, fragile at best. From what John can see, Sherlock’s legs are fine. Not at all irritated from the water, nor are there leeches sucking life from the boy...again, John’s being a bit overdramatic with the worrying. 

When Sherlock is in front of John, the boy holds his hands forward. 

"Mollusk.” The curly haired lad announces, and John chuckles, such a big word for a little boy. 

“Yes, it _is_ a mollusk, very good.” John pets his child’s hair. “Do you want to put it back?”

“No.” Sherlock shakes his head, but he walks away quickly. And, he _does_ put it back, earning praise from John. 

“Good job, sweet pea.” The doctor grins, and Sherlock turns to look at him.

“Good?” Sherlock beams. 

“ _Very_ good, baby.”

“Yes!” Sherlock claps his hands, smiling happily at his daddy and _god_ , it shouldn’t be so cute. He re-approaches John, with an innocent enough expression on his face. His head is bowed a bit, and his eyebrows are a tad knit. John scans his eyes over his boy for a second. 

“What?” John arches a brow. 

“Um..." Sherlock toes his foot in the grass. “I want to kiss Daddy.”

John feels a smile quirk onto his face. “Why do you look so...cheeky, then?”

“Cuz...I wanna kiss Daddy on the mouth.”

“We usually do.” John informs him. “I don’t get what you’re trying to tell me, Sherlock. I know you’re trying to tell me that you’d like to kiss me differently somehow, but...how would that be, love?”

“I...wanna kiss Daddy like a grown up.”

“Oh... _what_?” John frowns in confusion, a bit in concern. He remembered specifically telling Sherlock, the day they’d gone to the morgue, that he felt extremely guilty about kissing him so deeply, even though he was big. Because, John had been worried that little Sherlock had felt it too, and didn’t want him to think his daddy was being wrong with him. “Sherlock, only adults can kiss like that. If you want to kiss me like that, you have to be big.”

“That’s what I mean!”

“Huh?”

“I lied...”

“What?” John asks, then shakes his head. “About what?”

“Why...I brought you here.” Sherlock’s voice wavers. “John, er...uh, Daddy?”

“Are you ok?”

“I’m...trying to communicate through my little state, because it’d be so much easier.” Sherlock ruffles his fingers in his hair, he’s big again. And, apparently frustrated now.

“Oh...well,” John shrugs. “Get back to being little, love. I’ll let you talk now...I was just super confused.”

“Are...you sure, Daddy?” Sherlock isn’t all the way back little, but he’s nearly there.

“Here,” John points to the large rock a few feet away. “Let’s sit there, and we can chat. Ok?”

“Yes, Daddy...but, wait...” Sherlock looks down towards his feet, and his face flushes for moment. He looks like he’s concentrating. 

“Are you...pooing?” John tries to hide the fact that he wants to laugh. Sherlock’s light eyes flicker up to him, and he shakes his head. “Are you sure?”

“I peed.” Sherlock announces, almost proudly. 

“Ah, I see.” John chuckles. “All done, then?”

Sherlock nods. “Yes.”

“Alright, well...good boy.” John isn’t sure what to say, but he pets the boy’s cheek anyway. “We’ll change your nappy after we chat, ok?”

“Ok.” Sherlock says, he’s walking a bit funny now as he goes over to the rock. 

John goes along with him, sitting on the rock. Sherlock only stands in front of John, hands on John’s knees, looking up at him expectantly. He probably doesn’t sit because of his wet nappy. 

“Don’t you look at _me_ like that,” John laughs. “You’re the one with something to tell me, apparently.”

“Oh, right.” Little Sherlock giggles, and John sees that he’s about to insert his thumb into his mouth. And, with ninja-like reflexes, he sweeps Sherlock’s hand away from his mouth before he gets the chance. Sherlock’s eyes widen. “Whoa...” The boy comments. 

“Sorry, you’ve...been touching mollusks...and pond water...and, yeah.”

“Right...” The boy nods. “Sorry, Daddy.”

“It’s ok, I just don’t want you to get ill or something.” John says. “Anyway, for god’s sake, tell me what you wanted to tell me. Or...are you stalling?” The doctor folds his arms accusingly, and the boy blushes. “Oh my gosh, you _are_.” 

“N-no...” The little boy tries to lie, but it doesn’t work.

“I bet, even you wetting was a ploy.”

Sherlock avoids John’s eyes. “I really did have to go...”

“ _Mhm_.” John hums. “You little bugger.”

“Daddy...stop making fun.”

“I’m not making fun of you, honest.” John chuckles. “You just think you’re so sneaky sometimes, and it’s amusing when you get caught. And -- wait, no.”

“Huh?”

“No more stalling, Sherlock!” John exclaims, but not angrily. “Please...just tell me what you’ve wanted to tell me? I won’t be mad that you lied to me about why we’re here. And, to be honest...I _really_ didn’t think that you’d brought us out here for no reason at all.”

“Darn, you didn’t fall for that?” Sherlock’s voice is back to being big, John wonders how long big Sherlock would last before he disappears again.

John shakes his head. “Hell no, you _always_ have a plan.”

“My god, John.” Sherlock rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning. “Are you sure that _you’re_ not the master of deduction?”

John scoffs, but only to tease him. “So, you think you’re the master?”

“I might be.” Sherlock nudges John’s knees apart. “I’d like to think so.”

“You also said that you liked to think you loved me more, but that’s not true either.”

“Is it not?” Sherlock inquires.

“No...because,” John thinks it’s funny that sitting on the rock, makes them perfect eye level now. But, it _is_ convenient. He takes Sherlock’s face in his hands. “I absolutely love you more than you’d ever know.” He presses their lips together. 

This kiss is gentle, but it’s amazingly passionate. Emotion hits Sherlock so hard in the chest, that his fingers dig into the fabric of John’s trousers, and he gives a soft groan. This kiss is a lingering, slow touch of the lips. Sherlock’s fingers can’t stay still, and they knead into John’s legs. 

But, Sherlock has to pull back. 

“I _have_ to tell you why we’re here, John.” Sherlock looks at the doctor, who hasn’t opened his eyes yet. When they do open, they’re lidded, apparently he was effected heavily by that simple, yet perfect kiss as well. 

“So, just tell me.”

“I want to be yours.” Sherlock declares, and John can only blink at him. “I know you won’t let me, until I understand. But, before then...I thought we could come here and pretend. And, I could show you how good at being yours I can be.”

John closes his eyes again. “ _Sherlock_.”

“No, you be quiet.” Sherlock frowns at him. “It hurts so much that you underestimate me. You’re the one person who never has. **Never**. And now lately, it’s all you’ve been doing!”

“I’m not underestimating you! I’m fully aware that you’re _able_ to understand what we’re feeling. That’s why I have faith that you’ll understand and you’ll finally realize what all of this is about.” John says. “And, then we’ll finally be together and Sherlock, we’d be so happy.”

“Tell me.”

“Huh?”

“Tell me how you love me, _now_.” Sherlock’s voice is firm, venomous.

“You’re not going to intimidate me into telling you.”

“Fine.” For being so intense the moment before, Sherlock gives in immediately.

“Sorry, lad.”

“Whatever, John...just, can we please?” Sherlock’s expression, and tone of voice, are both back to normal now. 

“Please what?”

“Just, pretend that I’m yours. For today.” Sherlock pokes his lip out. “Please?”

“What...would that _mean_ exactly?”

“Well, what would you do if I was yours?”

“We’d literally be one being.” John gives a breathy laugh, it’s slightly pained because he’d thought of this many times, and it’s all he’d ever want. “I’d be attached to you completely. Physically, emotionally, mentally. Like...I’d give myself over to you. I pretty much already have anyway.”

“Oh _god_ , that’s it.” Sherlock’s voice is rumbling now. He digs his hands harder into John’s legs. “That’s what I want, I feel it in my chest, so much it _hurts_ that’s what I want John. Please tell me?”

“I won’t, I won’t...but, we can pretend.” John nods eagerly. “Please, let’s pretend.”

“Is that all we do now? We pretend to be little, we pretend to be big. Now we’re going to pretend that I love you, the way you love me.” Sherlock chuckles, moving forward to nuzzle his face against John’s. 

“No, all of those things are real, none of that is pretend.” John shakes his head. “We are adults, you are my child, and we are in...we _do_ love each other.”

“Really?” Sherlock bites his lower lip.

“Yes really, you dope.”

“I’m yours?” Sherlock raises a brow. 

“And, I’m yours.” John nods, leaning forward to kiss Sherlock. “Mine.” He murmurs against Sherlock’s mouth. 

“Yes, you’re mine. Always.” Sherlock gives into it, even if it’s just for today. 

But, he has a feeling that this moment is far more real than any before it. This isn’t pretend, but for both of their sakes, they’re saying that it is. It’d be easier this way. 

It _would have_ been pretend, if neither of them had put their entire hearts into those words, into that kiss. 

They belong to each other now, the only thing left...is for Sherlock to understand _why_. 


	51. Out of Sight

They got lost in each other for a while, mouthing, nuzzling, John’s hands moving up Sherlock’s spine, over his neck, shoulders, face. Sherlock kept his hands on John’s legs, constantly kneading. He wouldn’t touch John’s skin, his hands were still unclean. 

“Sherlock,” John murmured against the younger’s mouth, when he remembers the brunette is wet. He didn’t want to become distracted with kissing like before, and leave Sherlock with an even worse rash. 

“Hm?”

“We’ve gotta change your nappy.”

“No, I don’t want to go all the way back to the house.”

“We can do it here.” John assures him. 

“What?” Sherlock pulls back from the John’s lips to look at him like he had two heads. 

“We’ve gotta get you out of that nappy, you’ve already got a rash.”

“I know...but _here_?”

“No one will see.” John motions to the nothingness that they’re surrounded by. Sherlock looks around them, it is indeed nothingness. With a nod, Sherlock agrees to the nappy change. Even though, he’s not feeling very small. 

The younger watches as John lays the towel on the soft grass, and pulls out a new nappy, and wipes, the other nappy supplies as well. 

“Come on, you.” John pats the towel. With a quick flash of his smile, Sherlock got onto the towel, and he unbuttoned his shorts. “Hey, what are you doing? That’s my job.”

“I want to help.” Sherlock’s hands still over his zipper, not yet undoing it, waiting for John’s permission. 

“You can help by laying there and being cute.” John sticks out his tongue. 

“Unfair, John.”

John smiles down at him. “Hey,”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.” John declares as he unzips the corduroy shorts. 

“I know,” Sherlock lets the shorts be slipped off. “I love you, too.”

“Do you really think you’ll know how, soon?”

“How I love you?”

“Yes...”

“I believe so,” Sherlocks, looking up at the blue sky. “I was close, in the van.”

“How close?”

“Roughly 89% of the way there, give or take.”

“You’re so precise.” John comments, chuckling as he untapes the nappy, then pulls it back from Sherlock’s crotch. 

“I said give or take.” The detective reminds him. 

“Still _super_ precise.” John says, taking a wipe from the packet. “This might sting a bit, and I’m sorry.”

“I trust you, John.”

“I trust you, too.” For some reason, saying that almost felt heavier than saying ‘I love you’ did. 

“I know.” Sherlock laces his fingers behind his head, flinching a bit when some areas of his nappy region were still quite sensitive from the rash. But, John says that it looks as though it’s clearing up very well. John also says that he wishes that he’d had a wet cloth again to clean over the rashed areas, the wipes might be irritating the skin again. 

_How do I love, John?_ Sherlock thinks, drowning out John’s ramblings in the background. _How many ways can you love a person? Like family, like friends...John is my friend, he’s something like family as well.  Is romance love? Or is it just an addiction? People can become addicted to that horrid_ ** _romance_** _. And thank god, John and I aren’t romantic. So, what else is there? What aren’t I getting?_

“Hello, Sherlock?” John shakes him. “Daydreaming, are we?”

“I was...thinking.” Sherlock looks down to see that John had finished the nappy change, _and_ put his shorts back on without his notice. “Wow, fast work, Johnny.”

“Well, I wasn’t really _that_ fast. You were just spaced out.”

“Oh...”

“What were you thinking about?”

“Nothing, really.” Sherlock sits up, shrugs. He looks around all of the grassy feilds. “Do you ever just want to run, John?”

“Run?”

“Yes.”

“Run...where?”

“Just as far as you can go.”

“Is that what you want to do?”

“I want to do it a lot, actually.” Sherlock nods. “Just run the hell away from all of the _real_ things. And, end up somewhere, where everything is moldable, nothing set in stone.”

“Oh, well...I feel that way sometimes.”

“If we run through all of this open space, do you think we’ll end up somewhere new, or just more empty space?”

“You want to run?” John tilts his head.

“Run with me.” Sherlock says, rising to his feet.

“To where?”

“Out of sight.” 


	52. We Ran Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello! :)
> 
> It's been incredibly fun sharing this work with you! I never imagined to reach over 7K hits, in such a short amount of time. You all have been supporting me so much, and always asking how I am, which I really appreciate. 
> 
> So, enjoy chapters 45-52, another longish update. 
> 
> I'll update soon, happy holidays, everyone! 
> 
> ~TJL

Sherlock was ahead of him, which was no surprise. His legs were longer, leaner. And, he was more sure of himself. You see, Sherlock was running into the distance, he was looking for more, he was ready to see more. He was running into the new nothingness, that stretched out forever. 

But, John wasn’t running into the distance, he wasn’t searching, looking. He wasn’t ready to find out what laid beyond. His eyes weren’t focused on the horizon. No. He was following Sherlock, he was chasing Sherlock. He always was. And, this time...he wasn’t catching up, because Sherlock wasn’t stopping. He wasn’t waiting for John. The more John ran, Sherlock only ran further. 

It wasn’t until Sherlock stopped and collapsed onto the grass, chest heaving, a grin on his face, that John caught up. Sherlock seemed to have run all that he could, however John wasn’t ready to stop. He felt like he could continue for miles. But, Sherlock was his destination, not the land ahead. 

“Keep going, John.” Sherlock said between panting breaths. “There’s so much more out there.”

“No, I won’t.” John dropped onto the ground beside him. “I go where you go.”

“You can’t do that _forever_ , John.” Sherlock looked away, up at the sky. “Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not being silly, I’m telling you the truth.”

“John, I am not your anchor.” Sherlock shakes his head. “Just because I’ve stopped here, it doesn’t mean that I’m holding you down here with me.”

“There’s nothing out there that I want.” John points ahead, catching his breath. “Nothing.”

Sherlock lays there, chest still rising and falling quickly. He turns his head to look at the house, which is a tiny dot in the distance now. Then, his eyes drift back to John. 

“Come here, John.” Sherlock opens his arms, reaching them up and making grabby hands. 

“Alright.” John lowered himself to the grass further, laying down. The grass is more moist than he would’ve liked. But, it didn’t seep through his clothing so he was ok with it. 

"We went without touching, for so long.” Sherlock murmurs, as he brings John into his arms. A lovely breeze passed over them, a nice cool contrast to the warmth of their touching bodies. “Could you imagine not sleeping next to one another?”

John chuckled, letting his cheek rest against Sherlock’s chest. “Absolutely not.” He shakes his head. “When you had decided not to be little anymore, after the case...and asked to be alone...I tossed and turned for hours. Even being in my room felt wrong.”

Sherlock nodded, hummed. Then he gasps. “Oh _god_ , could you imagine not kissing?”

“For fuck’s sake,” John laughs again, he could feel the deep tremor of Sherlock’s baritone laughter as well. “You’d die, and I’d go into a coma.”

“You’re so _dramatic_ , Johnny.” Sherlock reaches up to pet his hair. “But, that is probably true.”

“It _is_ true,” John pinches Sherlock’s side. “That’s why I said it, you arse.”

“You’re perfect.” Sherlock says suddenly, and John freezes. He’s sure that he even stops breathing. 

“Y-you are too.” John speaks into Sherlock’s chest. 

“Do I smell?”

“What?”

“I’m sweaty, from running.” Sherlock 

“If you smell, then I must too. We ran together.” 

“No, you don’t.”

“You don’t either.”

“Liar.”

“You don’t smell bad to me,” He presses his nose to Sherlock’s body. “I can smell the sweat, but it...just such a warm, natural scent that it’s not offensive. It’s like, it’s just...liquid you.”

“Wow, you must really love me to be so accepting of my BO.” Sherlock sits up, John with him.

“Are we spending the night out here?” John asks. 

“Not out here.” Sherlock motions to the field they’re sitting in the middle of. “In the  house, John. Do be reasonable.”

John clenches his jaw slightly in annoyance, looking away from the detective, who’s now laughing at the doctor. The older male gives a smirk, of course he’s not really upset. John flickers his blue eyes back to Sherlock. “You pleb, you knew what I meant.” 

Sherlock takes a break from his laughter to speak. "Yes, John. We’re staying the night in the _house_ is that alright?”

“Yeah, it's great. I was just curious.” John nods, then it’s quiet between them. 

“You know what I still can’t believe?”

“What’s that?” John tilts his head to the side, Sherlock chuckles. 

“You find this all... _romantic_.”

“Oh...” John blushes. “Forget that I said that. It was just...the moment talking.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Sherlock pulls at blades of grass. “It’s fine, if that’s how it makes you feel, um, _romanced_.”

“I know you’re not trying to be romantic, Sherlock...” John says. 

_Of course, bringing someone to a beautiful home, in a beautiful location...with the goal of being entirely alone with them, just to ‘be theirs’ for the day is the most romantic thing_ **_anyone_ ** _has ever done for me...but whatever, Sherlock. Apparently, I’m not allowed to think that this is romantic._

“You don’t like romance, so I know this isn’t a romantic getaway.” John states.

“There’s just no reason for it.” Sherlock replies, and John tries not to groan. 

“Right.” John says through slightly gritted teeth. “So, that’s why I said just forget that I’d said that it was romantic at all.”

“Too late.” Sherlock taps his head. “Already in the mind palace.”

“Well, then get _rid_ of it.”

“Delete it from _your_ mind palace, John.” Sherlock says. “If you want to get rid of it so badly.”

“Why can’t you just get rid of it yourself?” John asks. “Also, I don’t have a mind palace, you dope.”

“Make one.”

“Ha-bloody-ha, Sherlock.” John folds his arms. “I’m not a genius like you, I can’t just _make_ a mind palace.”

“Of course you can.” Sherlock says as runs a hand over John’s head. “Come on, John. You’ve just got to focus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter, chapter 53, has nothing to do with the story!  
> I saw this amazing artwork, and it inspired me to write this scene between little Sherlock and John. 
> 
> The actual story for 'When I'm Small' will continue on chapter 54! :D
> 
> ~TJL


	53. Bonus Chapter: I Know It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please read the notes! Please? :'3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This art WAS NOT made for this story, nor is this chapter an actual chapter. But I really wanted to share this with you all. 
> 
> This art just *really* looked like Little Sherlock trying and failing to be big, and his daddy quickly coming to comfort his boy. And, I just thought I'd show you all?
> 
> So, PLEASE understand that this has nothing to do with the story, and it's just like a bonus goodie. Ok? Ok :)
> 
> This beautiful, beautiful art was made by: marielikestodraw  
> I take no credit for the art at all! NO CREDIT! ALL CREDIT GOES TO MARIE. 
> 
> Ok, enough of the notes, here's the image and the text I wrote inspired by it.

                                                                        

 

Sherlock closes his eyes tightly, trying to dig through his mind palace. Usually, the palace is neatly organized...but today, Sherlock can't find anything at all. 

It's like the time in the morgue, when his thoughts were racing quickly and he could hardly think at all. His brow creases as he searches through the now cluttered rooms. 

 _This isn't working, this isn't working. I can't do this._  He thinks, breathing picking up as time passes. 

John is watching this happen from afar, a hand held to his jaw. He's ready to step in at any time, to let Sherlock know that he was alright, and even though he couldn't find the answers _now_ , they had time. They always had time, and Sherlock needn't worry. 

The detective's chest rises and falls with frustrated breaths for a few moments before his light colored eyes flutter open, and they immediately flicker to John.

When the two make eye contact, it is clear that Sherlock is still big, and he's annoyed by the lack of stability in his brain. John blinks a few times, doing so almost to remind Sherlock that it's alright to do so as well. The younger hadn't batted his eyes since they'd opened. 

"Sherlock?" John breaks the silence, it was too heavy to let it be. 

But, when John speaks, he sees big Sherlock once again fall behind the veil of littleness. The boy looks desperate, afraid. 

"Daddy?" Sherlock asks, and John's heart warms and breaks all at the same time, because his boy sounds so fragile now. 

The doctor quickly crosses the room and stands close to Sherlock. 

"Are you ok, sweet pea?" John asks gently, petting his shoulder. 

"No...I...I can't do it." Sherlock looks up at him from his seat on the sofa. "I _know_ it's there, I do! I know it, Daddy. But..But I can't find it, and I can't think and everyone is going to be disappointed in me because-" Sherlock stops talking when John holds the boy against his body. 

"Shhh, shhh, love." John tangles his fingers in the chestnut tendrils. "It's ok, it's ok, Sherlock."

The boy only sniffles, though he's not fully crying. For some reason, it saddens John  _more_ when Sherlock sniffles, but isn't crying. It's like he can feel Sherlock's pain there, but the boy isn't letting it out and John doesn't want him holding in all of that hurt.  _  
_

But, John's concern is soothed when Sherlock parts his lips, and lets out a deep breath. When Sherlock does this, he meshes more against John's body, and the older can tell that the boy is completely relaxed now. His thoughts have been calmed.

"Thank you..." Sherlock says softly, voice between big and small. 

"Of course, sweetheart." John continues to pet the boy's curls. "Are you alright?"

"I'm tired," Is the reply, in an utterly exhausted 'big Sherlock' voice. "I'm _so_ tired."

"Let's go get some rest, we can try again in the morning." John doesn't move though, enjoying having Sherlock held close to him.

"Ok." Sherlock nods against John's chest. 

"Yeah?" John murmurs. 

"Yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went to the artist's actual blog, to find the post...but it said it was closed? But if you want to like or reblog the post on Tumblr, then you can find it here: 
> 
> http://ughbenedict.tumblr.com/post/106182323083/marielikestodraw-mind-palace-error
> 
>  
> 
> Again this chapter IS NOT an actual chapter of the fic, I just thought this was a nice fanart and I wanted to write a text based on it


	54. The Map

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello!
> 
> I've been away for 5 million years, I know. I'm so sorry!  
> I'd give you all a long detailed rant about how much real life sucks, and how if I could write fics all day, I would.  
> But, that'd be boring. 
> 
> Today, I'm giving you Chapters 54-63! Whoo, another long update!  
> PS, pay attention to chapter notes because some of them contain NSFW warnings!
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> ~TJL

Sherlock is embarrassing John, the detective is dying of laughter. 

“Shut up,” John shoves him playfully. “Just shut the hell up. Let’s go again.”

“No, _no_!” Sherlock shakes his head wildly. “I just can’t, this is t-too much!” He says through howled laughter. “I think that, maybe we should start simpler.” 

“You bloody _think_?” John begins laughing now as well. “As you said, my brain is ‘slighter’ than yours.”

They were still sitting in the middle of the large grassland, a little far away from the lovely stone house. 

Sherlock had asked John where he felt calmest, and it was right here. John stared up at the blue sky before sighing contently and looking back to Sherlock. 

The two of them, were trying to establish John’s mind palace. But, an entire palace was too hard for John to build. Sherlock was laughing at the poor structure John had built. The rooms were brittle, and John couldn’t hold anything in them. Nor, could he remember how to navigate the palace. So, it was pointless. 

Sherlock had found that comical. 

“Right, right.” Sherlock folds his legs and places his hands in his lap. His nappy crinkled as he moved about before settling. “So, let’s start you with 221B.”

“Our flat?”

“Yes, is that alright?” Sherlock asks. “It’s small, and familiar. You could move in comfortably.”

“That...sounds doable.” John nods, looking at Sherlock for the next instructions. 

“Close your eyes, John.”

“Oh, yeah.” The older male closes his eyes. “Now what?”

“Shhh,” Sherlock shushes him. “No more talking, just listen to me, ok? Only nod if you understand from now on.”

John nods. 

“Good,” Sherlock clears his throat. “Now, I want you to imagine the outside door, the black one. Picture the black door, with the numbers, and the knocker.”

“Uh-huh.” John replies, but is quickly shushed again. 

“Only nod, John.”

John nods. 

“Now,” Sherlock says. “Open that door.”

In John’s mind, he opens the door, he looks around, but stays just in the entrance, Sherlock hasn’t told him to move yet. 

John feels himself nodding again. 

“What do you see now?”

“The stairs.” John answers aloud. 

“Good,” Sherlock smiles. “Is there anything on the stairs?”

“N-no?” John shakes his head. “Should there be?”

“Go upstairs, to our flat.” Sherlock doesn’t answer the question. 

John brings himself up the steps, counting each one of the stairs. When he gets to the top, he opens the door without being told to. But, as soon as he steps inside, there is much here. 

“I see things.”

“What do you see?”

“Memories. Lots of them.” John says. “There’s different versions of us, everywhere.”

“Tell me about them, John.”

“I see us on the sofa, talking.”

“What else?” 

“I see you laying across my lap, as I give you your bottle...on the floor in front of the coffee table.”

“Go on.”

“I see us working on our laptops across from each other on the desk.”

“Yes.”

“I see us sitting in our chairs...we’re arguing.”

“Is there more?”

“I see you with your arms around me, we’re standing in the kitchen. I’m holding your mobile, we’re laughing. You’re kissing my cheek.”

“Anything else, keep walking through the flat.” 

“I’m in the kitchen still...there is so much here.”

“What else is there?”

“I see us kissing against the wall.”

“Ok.”

“Also,” John says. “I can hear you playing your violin in the living room from here now, I couldn’t before.”

“Good.”

“I can hear you crying from the bedroom.”

“Go into the bedroom.”

“I...don’t want to.”

“Go on, John.”

In John’s mind, he’s walking down the hall. The hall seems longer than it usually would be. When he finally reaches the bedroom, he grabs the handle. 

“Are you in the room yet?”

“No.”

“Go in.”

John goes inside, he sees Sherlock sitting on the side of the bed. He’s little, he’s got his dummy, his nappy. The little boy is saying something, but John can’t understand it. 

“You’re talking.” John announces. 

“Am I speaking to you?”

“I can’t tell.”

“How close are you to me?” Sherlock asks. 

“I’m not too close.”

“It’s just me, don’t be scared.”

“Haven’t you ever seen a scary movie?” John spits. “You don’t approach crying things. Especially the ones who seem familiar, or cute. Children are especially bad in scary movies.”

“This isn’t a horror movie.” Sherlock assures him. “Just get closer.”

John takes a deep breath, before going closer to the crying, little Sherlock on the bed. The closer he gets, he can finally understand his garbled words.

_I don’t understand, I don’t understand, I don’t understand._ The little Sherlock says. 

“He’s saying...that he doesn’t understand.”

“What doesn’t he understand?”

“I don’t know.” John replies, but...then he opens his eyes. He and Sherlock make eye contact. “What...did I just experience?”

“You experienced a memory map.” Sherlock informs him. “You’ve laid out all of your memories and where they’ve taken place.” He says. “And, though it’s not _quite_ a mind palace which kind of more for information, it’s a very good start. You have the mental ability to form a mind palace.” 

“What do I do with my mental map?”

“Well, when I keep ‘memories’ in my mind palace, I like to revisit them. Just to watch them, re-experience them.”

“But...how do I make it into a mind palace?”

“We might have to pick another location for you, or just help you to _construct_ a smaller structure for you to house your mind palace.” 

“I can’t use 221B?” John tilts his head to the side.

“Well, it’s cluttered with memories, and it might be too distracting for an 'information focused' mind palace, if that is what you want.” Sherlock clears his throat. “But, uh...if you'd like we can-”

“Did you build your mind palace from scratch?”

“For the most part, yes.” Sherlock nods. “But, I also just attached rooms I’ve been to in real life, or even entire buildings.”

“Whoa, really?”

“Yeah,” Sherlock nods. “For example, I have attached the morgue, the laboratory, and...I _do_ have 221B.”

“You do?” John’s eyes widen. “What’s our flat like in your mind palace?”

“Similar to yours, lots of memories.” Sherlock smiles, dimples showing. 

“Tell me what you see.”

Sherlock doesn’t close his eyes, he remembers what it was like last time he visited 221B in his mind palace. 

“I see us laughing together, after running through the streets after the cab. I see us sitting together, watching crap telly and eating crisps. I see you scolding me for being a heartless prick in the living room, me in my chair, you standing behind yours.” Sherlock remembers. “I see you feeding me in the kitchen, spooning food into my mouth very gently, and then me saying that I loved you. I see the look on your face after I tell you that...it gets me a little emotional.” Sherlock took a deep breath. “I see you holding my mobile, with my arms around you. I see us against the wall, you kissing me everywhere.” He continues. “In the bathroom, I see you giving me a bath, I also see you help me to the potty earlier today.” He looks distant now. “In the bedroom, I see you changing my nappy while dancing and sining. I see you holding me close in bed,but...I also see me sitting on the bed, watching panicked as you storm out....that was before you ignored me. I...want to delete that one, but it’s really hard.”

“I’m sorry...about that.” John frowns, he’s quick to change the subject. “Is that all you see in your mind palace, though? About 221B?”

“No, there’s loads more, it changes sometimes, what I see there. I see stuff with Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson. But, lately, it’s just you.”

John feels prideful. “Oh, alright.”

“I think, John...that it would be easier for you to _write_ what your mind palace looks like, because you’re good at writing. And, you usually see what you write, in your head as if it were a solidly structured place, correct?” Sherlock eyes the older male. 

“Yes, when I write fictionally, I can see it all _very_ clearly.” John nods. 

“Then, try writing up one, then move in.” Sherlock smiles. “For now though, do you think it’d be alright if I...was little? Just until we got back to the house, whenever that might be? I’d...like to play outside some more.”

“Sure, love.” John nods, smiling fondly at Sherlock. “Whatever you’d like.”


	55. Manners

Sherlock sits there for a while before making grumbly sounds, obviously little again. It hadn’t taken much for him to slip this time. 

“What are you so grumpy about?” John chuckles at the already frustrated boy. “You’ve been here for ten seconds.”

“No more.” Sherlock folds his arms, staring at his feet. “Don’t want it.”

“What don’t you want?” John asks, but then it’s obvious. Sherlock doesn’t like wearing shoes and socks, and he currently has both on now, he’d put them back on after the pond wading, so he could run. Now that he’s finished running, he wants them back off again. “You don’t want anything on your feeties?” The doctor asks gently.

_Feeties? What am I even...bleeding hell._ John mentally scolds himself. 

“No, no want on feeties.” Sherlock shakes his curly head, his sentence structure very small. And, he’s using the silly word John had said. “Off, Dada. Please?” The baby points his toes in John’s direction. 

“You want me to take them off?” John leans his head to the side. 

“Please, Dada? Off?” Sherlock nods and leans forward to touch his shoes. “Off?”

“Yes, hold on.” John reaches forward and unties the laces of the first shoe. 

“Off, Dada?” Sherlock kicks his feet, making it nearly impossibly for John to work them off.

“You’ve got to stop moving.” John looks up into his eyes, and Sherlock looks like he doesn’t understand, nor has he stopped moving his feet. 

“Dada, please?” Sherlock frowns and points to the shoes. “Off, feeties?”

_How regressed_ ** _is_** _he? He doesn’t understand me? Has he been this small before? He’s always at least understood me...what’s making him regress like this?_ John wonders, but goes along with it. 

“Sherlock, you’ve _got_ to stop _moving_ , I can’t help you!” John’s voice raises slightly as he is unsure how to convey this to his boy. 

“Dada, _why_?” Sherlock flops himself onto his back, stretching out like a star. He groans loudly. “Dada...”

“Well, at least you’re being still...” John takes off the first shoe and sock. He sets it near the nappy bag, then moves on to the next. When he takes ahold of the shoe to keep it steady, Sherlock retracts the foot. “What are you-”

“No.” Sherlock sits back up, only to glare at John. “No, no more off.”

“I thought you wanted it off?” John’s brow furrows. 

“Mine.”

“Yes, it’s _yours_. But, I thought-”

“No, _mine_.” Sherlock shakes his head, then he tilts his head to the side as if to say ‘this should be clear to you’. 

“Well...fine, leave it on then...” John’s reply sounds more like a question. “Can I tie the laces back up? I don’t want you to trip on them.”

“Uh-uh.” Sherlock shakes his head, as he pushes himself up onto his feet. 

“Sherlock, I’m serious. I don’t want-” John stops abruptly as Sherlock begins toddling off. They’re in the middle of an open field, so there’s no use in trying to stop him. In either direction, there was nothing to be worried about the baby getting into. So, John just sits back to watch.

The little boy begins by walking off in one direction and then stopping. He turns to John and waves, and the older male finds this extraordinarily cute. John waves back and he can hear the boy’s faint giggle in the distance. 

“Dada, plane!” Sherlock points up in the sky, where sure enough, there’s a small plane trailing across the sky. 

“Can you reach up and catch it?” John asks, leaning back, supporting himself with his hands. He watches as Sherlock jumps up, in attempt to grab the far away plane. The boy tries and tries, not getting discouraged after each failed attempt. Though, as the plane gets further and further away, the boy looks at his daddy and shakes his head. 

“Can’t do it!” Sherlock calls to John. 

“Maybe when you grow up?” 

“Yes, big. Like Dada.” Sherlock agrees, then he proceeds toddling around for a while. He examines the grass, plucking a few blades. The boy looks over at his daddy before pointing to the small amount of green in his hands. John only nods, unsure of what else to do.

“I see, very nice.” John gave the boy praise, because he knows children like to feel that they’ve done well. Even for the smallest things, like the grass Sherlock is holding in his hand and examining closely.  

Then, he watches as Sherlock brings the handful of grass into his mouth. John’s eyes widen and his jaw hangs open as he can only stare while Sherlock puts the greenery into his mouth. 

“Oh for god’s sake...” John holds a hand to his face. “Sherlock, why...?”

“Yucky, Dada!” Sherlock spits it out, he looks upset. 

“Well I guess so, you silly boy.” 

“Yucky, mouth...” Sherlock’s tongue is hanging out like he doesn’t want to put it back in his mouth and taste the grass anymore. 

“Come get some juice, love.” John chuckles, and the baby begins his short journey back over to John. When he’s finally back over, the boy sits down next to John, pouting. 

“Grass, not good.” Sherlock announces.

“Not good?” John repeats sympathetically, fishing through the nappy bag for the boy’s juice. When he finds it, John takes the cap off. “Do you want to do it, or me?”

“Dada, please?” Sherlock says as he crawls over to his daddy, laying across the man’s lap. 

“You know, Sherlock,” John says as he supports the baby’s head. “When you become this little, you have _such_ good manners.”

The baby isn’t listening at all, he has his lips parted to receive his bottle. John only chuckles as brings the nipple to the boy’s mouth and Sherlock latches on quickly. 

They’re out in nature, there’s a slight breeze and their surroundings are very beautiful. John feels so peaceful, especially being here with Sherlock, big or little. But, there’s just something so sweet about Sherlock’s nursing noises mixing in with the sweeping breeze and the limitless world that is just theirs. 

Sherlock is a bit more active during this juice-time. He’s wiggling slightly and turning his head every once in a while, letting the nipple slip from his mouth. 

“Are you done?” John asks, holding up to see how much of the juice is gone. Not much at all, but John doesn’t expect him to finish it. 

“More, please?” Sherlock’s small, sweet voice asks politely. 

“Well, you’ve got to keep latched on to continue drinking, silly.” John taps his noise gently. 

“Yes.” Sherlock nods, looking up at John, before parting his lips again. 

“Here, baby.” John brings the bottle to Sherlock’s mouth. Again, the boy latches on quickly. However, he soon turns his head away, unlatching with a ‘pop’.  This time, John follows Sherlock’s gaze. There appears to be some...sort of shack in the distance. It’s quite far away. And, John wonders why Sherlock keeps looking at it. 

“Dada, bees.” Sherlock points. 

“What?” 

“Bees, there.” Sherlock keeps his finger pointed. 

“Are you saying ‘bees’ or ‘these’?”

“Bees, _bzzzz_.” Sherlock makes his best ‘bee’ noise.

“Oh, _bees_.” John repeats. “Why are you saying ‘bees’?” 

“There.” Sherlock points again, before turning his head to look up at John. “There.” He says again.

“Are there...bees in that shack?”

“No,” Sherlock shakes his head. “No, shack.”

“You’re saying that it’s not a shack? That’s what it looks like from here.” John squints. “Or maybe it isn’t...what _is_ that?”

“Bees.” Sherlock declares. “Go see?”

“You...want to go see _bees_ , Sherlock?” John knits his eyebrows, in concern. “I don’t know how safe it is to bring...a baby to see where they keep bees. Well, are you _sure_ that there are bees there?”

Sherlock doesn’t reply, he just turns himself to press his face into John’s body. 

“Oh my,” John looks down at his boy. “Where has my Sherlock gone?”

“Dada mean.”

“I’m mean?”

“Yes.”

“Because I won’t take you to the bees?”

“Yes.”

John thinks for a second. “Well, _Sherlock_ is mean.”

A muffled gasp is heard before Sherlock pulls himself from John’s stomach. His eyes are wide, his mouth opened just as wide. He looks horribly offended and John snorts at the expression. He’s laughing too hard to notice that Sherlock’s eyes are welling with tears. 

“Dada...” Sherlock whimpers, bring his fists to his eyes to catch the fresh tears. 

John is stuck in ‘laugh-mode’ and he’s unable to feel too bad for making Sherlock cry. First of all, he hadn’t _meant it_ when he called Sherlock mean. Second, Sherlock was being _way_ too cute right now for John to feel upset as well. But, he wasn’t just going to let the sweetheart cry. 

“Love, I'm sorry.” John is still chuckling as he reaching forward to tug on the boy’s shirt. “I was joking, you’re not mean. Dada loves you.” John pauses as he wonders why he’s just called himself ‘Dada’, probably because Sherlock’s been doing it. 

“No, Sherlock mean...” The baby brings his hands from his now reddish, wet eyes. 

“You’re not mean. Will you come finish your bottle and cuddle with Dada, please? I miss you being close.” John says, he’s being completely honest. 

“Miss...Sherlock?”

“Yes.” John nods, opening his arms. 

“Being close?”

“Huh?” John arches a brow. 

“Dada want be close?” Sherlock sniffles. 

“Mhm,” John smiles, nods. “Yeah, please?”

“Kisses?” Sherlock asks, and again, John nods. 

“If you’d come here, sweet pea.” John, holds his arms out and Sherlock worms closer to John again. He hadn’t cried enough to make his face a mess, but John reaches into the nappy bag for a tissue. He didn’t want to use his hands because he’d been touching the grass...and he’s so much more of a germaphobe when it comes to little Sherlock. 

John gently wipes the tears from the baby’s eyes and dabs under his nose, though there wasn’t anything there. 

“All better?” John speaks softly to the child in his arms. 

The boy shakes his head. 

“No? What’s wrong?” John kisses the baby’s temple. Again, the boy shake’s his head. 

“Mouth.” Sherlock points, then puckers his lips to John. 

The doctor leans down and presses a chaste kiss to Sherlock’s mouth. After, they say ‘mwah’, very quietly. Almost like it was their own little secret. 

“More?” Sherlock asks sweetly, John replies by giving his boy another gentle kiss. The older feels Sherlock holding him in place, a hand on the back of his neck. This chaste kiss was broken by Sherlock giggling and then releasing him. “Better now.” The boy smiles up at John. 

“Yeah?” John smiles as well. 

“Uh-huh.” Sherlock nods. 

John was about to offer the bottle again, when he’s stopped by a rather loud burp from Sherlock. The older breathes a laugh. 

“Excuse you, lad.” John ruffles his hand over the boy’s curls. 

“Sorry, Dada.” Sherlock looks shy, but not so much embarrassed. He looks like he’s made a mistake, _guilty_. 

“You don’t have to _apologize_ , you’ve done nothing wrong.” John informs him. "But, if you’d like to say ‘sorry’ you could say ‘excuse me’ instead.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why say that?”

“Oh, because...well you said that you don’t want to be a pig, remember?” John asks, the boy nods. “Well, I honestly don’t care if you burp or...pass wind or whatever, but if you’d like to feel less like a pig, then you can say ‘excuse me’ and it will all be ok.”

Sherlock’s eyes move away from John, and his brow creases, eyes flickering for a moment before he closes them completely, but only for a couple seconds. John’s seen big Sherlock do this before, when he’s storing things into his mind palace. 

But, Sherlock is little when he and John make eye contact again. The baby nods then says ‘excuse me’ before parting his lips again for his bottle. 

This time around, he wasn’t as fidgety. He seemed to have fallen asleep in the middle of his bottle, because his eyes were closed and he wasn’t suckling continuously. The suckling would stop for a while, then pick up quickly again. If John would try to take the nipple out of Sherlock’s mouth, the baby’s brow would crease and he’d give a soft noise until John allowed him to latch on again. 

John wasn’t sure if he was completely asleep or not, either way, Sherlock was peaceful, and that’s all the doctor could ask for, so he allowed it. After a few minutes of no nursing, John took the bottle away and replaced its cap. Sherlock whined at this, though his eyes remained closed like he was still trying to sleep, or...whatever he was doing...relaxing, ‘being’. 

“Hold on, hold on.” John put the bottle back into Sherlock’s nappy bag. Then, he pulled one of the plastic cases containing a dummy from the bag. John retrieved the dummy and pressed the nipple to Sherlock’s mouth. The baby’s lips parted and he latched on, self-soothing himself into rest again. “Dramatic boy.” John comments as the baby shifts himself so that he’s facing John’s body. 

John looks down lovingly at Sherlock, before looking up and around at the lovely green space. 

“You know,” John speaks, whether Sherlock is awake and listening or not. “They rarely show it in the media, but...there are some gorgeous places in Afghanistan.” He says, remembering his serving days. “There...wasn’t as much green as _this_ but -- in the helicopter, we flew over this river...and on either side...there was just...beautiful grass, and stone and...they’d _never_ show that. I caught a photo of it too, but...I dunno what I’ve done with the camera.”

John looks around again, then back down at his baby. 

“You know, you’d like Afghanistan.” John says, then chuckles. “Such an odd thing to say, I know...because I’ve had scary experiences there. But, the land isn’t all a giant war zone...they have places like these, where you can be completely and entirely alone...with me.” John chews his bottom lip thoughtfully. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

The boy is definitely sleeping now, softly snoring, dummy bobbing every now and then. 

“Sherlock,” John traces the baby's jaw bone. “Thanks for brining me here.” 


	56. Sleepyhead

Sherlock didn’t sleep long. John had laid down with him, content to just looking up at the sky. And, when Sherlock did wake, John glanced at him. 

“Hello, sleepyhead.” John greets him, then continues watching the sky...be blue. 

“John?” Sherlock rubs his eyes, letting the dummy fall from his mouth, onto John’s chest. “When did...when did I fall asleep?”

“Dunno, like...a half hour ago.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Sherlock’s voice sounds a bit frantic. 

“Hey...” John picks up the dummy from his chest and sits up. “What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t want...I was -- sorry, John.” Sherlock sits up as well, eyes flickering like he’s trying to organize his thoughts. “I wasn’t...”

“What’s _wrong_?” John asks again. “So what? You fell asleep...big deal.”

“No, no, _no_.” Sherlock points at him. “You _let_ me fall asleep.” His tone is very accusative. 

“Well,” John shrugs. “Yes.”

“John, damn it.” Sherlock folds his arms. “You weren’t supposed to!”

“Supposed to what?” 

“I didn’t want to nap at all today.” Sherlock informs him. “I didn’t want to waste a moment with you out here and-”

“ _Waste_?” John repeats. “Sherlock it was so _sweet_ and...you usually nap when you’re little.”

“I know, but...” Sherlock sighs, defeated. “So, it was alright, then?”

“Yeah, it was fine. And Sherlock, you  _really_ only slept for around thirty minutes.” John says. “That’s much shorter than your usual naps.”

Sherlock eyes John for another minute before he gives a crooked smile. 

“It... _was_ nice.” The detective admits. 

“What...was nice?”

“That little time we just had.” Sherlock replies. “I feel...refreshed.”

“Good, then.” John grins. “That’s what this is all about, right? Giving you peace.”

“Yes.” Sherlock nods. “If you’re ready to head back to the house we could-”

“Up to you.” John cuts him off. 

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Don’t be so-”

“I’m not being passive.” John shakes his head. “Why is it so annoying that I genuinely care what you think, or how you feel about things? I just want to do what you want to do.”

“I know, I _know_...but why can’t we do what you want to do?”

John actually thinks about it. He doesn’t know why not. It’s just...there’s something inside of John, that feels almost literally _offended_ when Sherlock puts John’s needs or wants first. He feels like Sherlock is putting himself down or...something. 

The doctor shakes his head to clear it. 

“Every time I ask myself ‘what do I want to do?’ my brain replies with ‘ask Sherlock’ and...so I ask what you want.”

“That’s no good.” Sherlock sighs. “But...I appreciate it.”

John only hums in response. He notices Sherlock looking towards the bees again. “Don’t those things need to be regularly tended to?” 

“An older gentleman does...when I first visited the little stone house, I saw him tending to it. We talked for a long while.” Sherlock makes an enthused noise. “I do, _so_ love bees.”

“Do you?” John replies. 

“We should go back to the house.” Sherlock doesn’t answer John’s question. He just rises to his feet, John follows suit.

“Are you ready to head in?” John asks. 

“Yeah, um...” Sherlock balances on one foot to get his other shoe and sock off. “I need to use the internet.”

“Does the stone house have wifi?”

“Of course it does, it’s _Mycroft’s_ house.”

“Yes!” John cheers, but then he frowns when he remembers that he hadn’t brought his computer along. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll only be a moment on mine. You can use it after that.” Sherlock rolls his eyes playfully. 

“Oh, thank _god_.”


	57. Fragile Baby Birds

Sherlock didn’t spend long on the computer, he just did a few quick internet searches, replied to a few emails from potential clients. None of them had interesting cases, and he didn’t hesitate to tell them that. However, even if there _had_ been interesting cases, he would’ve put them off in favor of spending time here with John. 

He glanced up at the older male who was leaning back against the sofa. He had a leather covered notebook in his hands and he was scrawling thoughtgully into it. 

“A journal?” Sherlock spoke up, his deep voice cutting through the silence. 

“Hm?” John replies, not looking up from the page. 

“Is that a journal?”

“Oh, yes.” John nods. “I used to write, um...silly thoughts and such in it. But, now I’m using it to start building up my mind palace.”

“I see.” Sherlock replies, glancing away before returning his eyes to the preoccupied doctor. “So...is it secret?” Sherlock’s tone changes a bit, he’s still big but he wavered a tad just then.

“Is...what secret?”

“Your journal.” Sherlock points. “Is it something that I’m not to see?”

“I hadn’t...thought about it. But, if you want to see it, I don’t think there’s a reason why you couldn’t.” John shrugs, then sticks the pen between the pages and sets the book down. 

“Would you...ever read it to me?” Sherlock avoids John’s eyes, now that the man is looking up from his book. It was easier to talk about John’s journal when he didn’t have the doctor’s full attention. 

“Is that what you want?”

“Would you mind?”

“No, I wouldn’t mind.” John chuckles. “We don’t have many boundaries, especially not...now that you’re _mine_ , and all.”

“Oh, right. I keep forgetting that.” Sherlock shuts his laptop. “Oops, did you want to borrow this?” He motions to the machine. 

“I was going to use it to blog about our trip, of course...leaving out the kissing and the little stuff, but it can wait.”

“Oh, alright.” The detective nods. “Did you have that in my nappy bag?” Sherlock asks. “The journal, I mean.”

“Yeah...I’d just put it in today, it’s not usually in there.”

“What made you bring it today?”

“Thought I might have some down time...I saw the address on the fridge was far away, and I thought I could spend some time writing something, I dunno.” John runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “Spent more time chatting with you and snoozing than anything else, on the ride in.”

“Yes, you did.” Sherlock gets up from where he’s seated, to approach John. When he’s sitting next to the older man, he smiles. “I know we haven’t done much...but, being yours has been fun so far. I feel...more at peace inside.”

“Do you?” John arches a curious brow, then he grins. “That’s great, I was hoping you’d feel better.”

“It’s the part of me that was missing, of course I feel _loads_ better.” Sherlock reaches up a hand and playfully shoves John. “I just wish I knew why.”

“You...will soon.”

“I know, I’m just tired of waiting.”

“Well, let’s not dwell on it.”

“Right.” Sherlock nods. “We’re having a good moment, we should let it be.”

“Mhm.” John nods as well, then they become silent. “So...”

“So, um...” Sherlock exhales noisily, then slumps back into the sofa. “Being a grown up is so boring.”

“That, I can _definitely_ agree with.”

“When I’m little, everything has meaning, everything is so much more eye-catching.”

“Really?” John asks, his enthusiasm around the question is... _cute_.

Sherlock smiles. “Yeah, it’s so refreshing to not look at everything with such emptiness, or like I’ve seen it all before. Being little is so...freeing.”

“Freeing.” John repeats the world, it’s clear that he’s imagining something. Probably imagining himself experiencing everything as a little. Sherlock finds it painfully obvious that John has a keen interest in what being little is like. Sherlock just wishes John would give in and try it. He’d absolutely enjoy it. 

“You’re...downright adorable, John.” Sherlock comments, almost in a coo. He pets the blonde’s face, causing him to blush. 

“W-what are you doing?” John tucks his chin to his chest, to avoid the petting. 

“Just being sweet to my John.” Sherlock responds, pinching John’s face. 

“Clear off! Hey!” John uses his own hand to grab Sherlock’s wrist. “No more of that.”

“Sorry.” Sherlock apologizes, but he’s grinning. “Is something wrong?”

“I just feel...when you....” He’s struggling to find the words. “I don’t want to be...babied.”

Sherlock gasps, faux surprise. “You _don’t_?”

“Yeah, I’m a big b-” John catches himself. “I’m an adult.”

“My _word_ ,” Sherlock continues to pretend to be understanding of John’s ‘big’ declaration. “I’m so _very_ sorry Mr. Adult, you were just so cute, I thought you were my small John.”

“N-no, I’m big.” John’s voice shrinks from sudden shyness, but goodness it comes across as littleness. “ _You’re_ the baby.” John points, turning his head away from Sherlock. 

_Are you slipping, my John?_ Sherlock wonders, eyeing the man’s behaviour. If he _is_ slipping, then John might be scared. It’s such a strange feeling, to find yourself suddenly in need of care...in that way. But, at least he’s not alone. When Sherlock first experienced being little, he was...so alone. Afraid. He felt that what he was doing was maybe wrong, and that he should want things like that. 

But, that wouldn’t happen to John, should he find himself suddenly needing a mummy or daddy, because...Sherlock is here. He’d take such good care of John. 

“Um...” John breaks the silence. “I’m going to go, um...check my emails, then maybe get today’s blog going.” He thought of an excuse to distance himself from Sherlock, and he crossed the room to where the detective’s laptop sat. 

Sherlock wasn’t surprised, or hurt by John’s want for distance. Pushing John would only make things worse, and John seems to not want it. So, there’s no need to push anyway. 

“I’m getting a little hungry.” Sherlock announces from the sofa. 

“Want a snack?” John has opened up Sherlock’s laptop, and hopped onto his email. There were a couple from Sarah, one asking about work. One about...”Dinner?” John accidentally says it out loud.

“Dinner?” Sherlock repeats, thinking John was talking to him. However, John as just questioning the subject of Sarah’s email. “You want to get started on that, then?”

“No, um...” John’s brow furrows as he reads through the message.

> **Hello, John!**
> 
> **I hope you don’t mind me messaging you so much on your day off. However, there's a banquet that I got invited to, because I donated money to a charity. It’s supports survivors of a serious illness, and I haven’t got anyone to bring with me to the dinner. It’s such short notice, I know! But, if you’d like to attend with me, that’d be wonderful. It’s this weekend.**
> 
> **Let me know,**
> 
> **Sarah**

John stared at the screen. _That’s not a date, right?_ John asks, naively. Or, maybe he’s just in denial. 

“John?” Sherlock calls, when he’s not answered. 

“Hm?” John looks up. “Oh, hi love.”

“Hi.” Sherlock gets up from the sofa and begins walking over to John. Quickly, the older male closes out of _that_ email and pulls up the one about work instead. The detective peers at the message. “What’s gotten you so nervous?” He eyes the message. 

“I have to work from late afternoon, through the evening...just for a bit. I’m gonna miss my little boy.” John announces. “Would you like someone to watch you?”

“A babysitter or a nanny?” Sherlock asks. 

“Yes, something like that.” John reaches a hand to Sherlock’s curls. “Mycroft or Mrs. Hudson?”

_Mycroft has been asking me questions about John, I couldn’t stand it if he did that in person. It’s bad enough over text. But, playing with him is fun..._ Sherlock thinks. _Mrs. Hudson will no doubt bring me biscuits, and it’d be far less embarrassing for her to change my nappies, rather than Mycroft._

“Well?” John raises a brow. 

“Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock replies, tucking his face into John’s neck, thinking of being looked after while John was away made him feel small, but also suddenly very clingy. John’s going to be at work, with that _vixen_ , Sarah. And, he’s going to be away from Sherlock for several hours. The younger had forgotten that John had to go to work the next day. 

“Ok,” John smiles as Sherlock’s face presses into his skin. “Mrs. Hudson it is, but I’ll call her now, to make sure that she’s available tomorrow, ok?”

“Why the hell wouldn’t she be?” Sherlock responds, and his voice sounds little enough that John pauses, and his smile falls. 

“What did you say?”

“What?”

“Did you just curse?” John’s blank face turns to a frown. 

A bit a fear strikes through the little boy. He had been quite little when he’d say the bad word. But, he didn’t want to tell his daddy that. He’d get in trouble. 

“N-no, Daddy.” Sherlock shakes his head, keeping himself hidden in John’s neck. 

“Sherlock, you’ve already said a naughty word, do _not_ lie to me on top of that.” John gently pushes the boy away from his neck so he can see his face. 

“I’m s-sorry.” Sherlock whines, backing a step or two away from John. 

“Yes, you should be, _very_ sorry.” John’s voice is firm, strong. A bit of the veteran is poking through the man now. “Why did you say that word?”

“I...I got upset.”

“Why?”

“You said Nana Hud might not be able to spend time with me...and I don’t like that.”

“ _Nana Hud!_ ” John coos, completely forgetting to be upset. “Oh my _stars_ that’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard you say! I can’t wait to tell her! Did you just come up with that?”

“No...” Sherlock shakes his head. “That’s always been her name.”

_It has?_ John thinks, but he can’t remember Sherlock ever saying it. _Maybe, since he’d been little before he’d began sharing it with me, whenever he was in his little state, that was the name he’d given her from the beginning. I wonder if he’s always thought of me as his daddy. That’s too bleeding cute and -- wait, I’m supposed to be scolding him for swearing. Focus, Johnny._

“Sherlock, that’s very sweet of you, having given Mrs. Hudson a lovely name like that. But, you are _not_ to be saying naughty words.” John shakes his head. “Not when you’re little.”

“Y-yes, Daddy.”

“I’m going to give you a time out.” John informs him, tone firm again. “However, I’m also going to have to give you a swat.”

“What?” Sherlock’s eyes widen. 

“Not on your bum, give me your hand.” 

Sherlock holds his hands close to his chest like fragile baby birds. 

“No...mine.” Sherlock frowns. “Don’t want hit.”

“Sherlock, you’re lucky I’m not smacking your bum.” John replies. “Mycroft would’ve given you a red bottom if he’d heard.”

That is true...Mycroft wouldn’t have tolerated it. John is being far more patient. But, Sherlock doesn’t want it.

“C-can I have my dummy first?”

“No, naughty boys don’t get their soothers.”

“Can I h-have my owl?” Sherlock’s lower lip wobbles a bit, and John wants to fall on the floor, ask for forgiveness for even _thinking_ of giving the boy a slap on the hand. As harmless as it was. 

“No toys, no soothers. Just the corner.” John says, staying strong. “We’ve done this before.”

“Fine!” Sherlock extends both hands, as if challenging John, who only wanted to slap one of them. 

John narrows his eyes at the boy, who is wearing a smirk. 

_Oh, he’s good_. John thinks, raising his hand. Not using a ton of force, he strikes Sherlock’s right hand, the boy’s smirk falters. Sherlock lets a soft noise, before lowering the smacked hand. But, he keeps the other one up. 

“No, Sherlock.” John lowers the hand himself. “You’re not getting the best of me, go sit in the corner.” 

“I’m hungry.” Sherlock says, rubbing his hit hand with his other one.

“Well, I’m going to call Nana now, and ask if she’ll watch my naughty boy while I’m at work.” John pulls out his mobile, and dials her number. “Corner, Sherlock. Now.”

Sherlock huffed and then stomped to the nearest corner. He sat facing it, pressing his forehead against the wood of the wall. He was grumbling angrily. 

“Quiet, Sherlock.” John hisses. “You are to sit there, think of what you’ve done, and think of not doing it again. Or next time, it’s your bum.”

Sherlock huffs and angrily hits the wall, then again. 

“Sherlock, would you stop hitting the -- hi, Mrs. Hudson! It’s John.” He stopped scolding when the call was picked up. “Fine, we’re fine. Yes -- thank you.” John listens for a moment. “Great, I’m happy for you. Um, Mrs. Hudson, I was calling because I was....wondering if you could watch...the baby.”

_The baby._ Sherlock thinks as he stops hitting the wall. He felt warmer when he heard John speak of him that way. He felt so loved. 

“Tomorrow, for a bit. I’ve got to work.” John speaks. “Oh, when is your hair appointment?”

Sherlock was growing quite tired of being in the corner.

“When do you think it might be done?” John looks up at his boy, still sulking in the corner. “Oh, brilliant! I have to be at work an hour after that, so that’ll be just great.” He’s grinning. “I can’t say exactly when I’ll be home but -- you’re fantastic, yes. Thank you. Sherlock personally requested that you’d be the one to watch him so -- yes.”

Sherlock groaned, pressing his forehead to the wall again. 

“He’s called you the sweetest thing,” John gushes. “He’s called you ‘Nana Hud’.”

Even from across the room, Sherlock can hear the high pitched squeal Mrs. Hudson gave upon hearing her new name. Sherlock blushes, glad he’s in the corner to hide it. 

“I know, I know! I all but died when I heard it and he -- no, he’s in the corner.” John looks up at him again. “He’s been quite naughty, quite the mouth on him.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes, then looks over his shoulder at John. 

“Daddy said it first, in the van.” Sherlock reminds him, and John’s brow furrows. He wants to tell Sherlock to ‘hush’ and to turn back to face the corner, but he’s trying to remember what Sherlock is talking about, then it hits him. 

On the way to the stone house, he had said ‘hell’ in front of little Sherlock. John groans internally, closing his eyes. 

“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Hudson. We’ll see you tomorrow, we won’t be home tonight.” John speaks into the device. “We’re on a short trip....no not that kind of trip. Alright, goodbye.” John hangs up and looks at his boy. “Sherlock,” He walks across the room to where the boy is seated in the corner. “Daddy is sorry for cursing in front of you...but just because I said it, doesn’t mean you can.”

“Daddy should be in time out, too.” Sherlock folds his arms. 

“Is that what you’d like? Fine.” John sits next to him and faces the corner as well. He pretends to pout. 

Sherlock eyes him for a moment before leaning over and leaving a wet kiss on John’s cheek. 

“I love you, Dada.” Sherlock says, then turns back to face the corner.

“Dada loves you, too.” John runs a hand over the boy’s curls. “Do you think you could stay in the corner for a few more minutes?”

“ _Why_?” He whines.

“For hitting the wall.”

“Fine.” Sherlock sighs, but accepts his punishment. 

“See you in ten minutes.”


	58. When I Look at You

Those ten minutes passed quickly, and then Sherlock was back to running about and being a cheerful little boy. John got started on dinner, doing the things that Sherlock was too little to do, before inviting him over to help cook. 

As Sherlock approached, his eyes clearly deduced the ingredients that John had laid out, chopped and diced. There were quite a few things. 

“John,” Big Sherlock is back, curiosity pushed him from his headspace. “You never make anything this fancy in 221B. Look at the spices, and the herbs...”

“You’re right, I don’t.” John nods. “Mostly because we’re running around on a case, and I’m far to busy to cook anything fancy.” He shrugs. “Usually it’s 2am, and I only feel like boiling pasta or making a sandwich.”

“You’re saying it’s my fault?” Sherlock pretends to pout. “Fine then, John. I’m sorry for stunting your culinary capabilities.”

“Of which _you_ have none.” John comments snappily. 

“What?” Sherlock’s brow furrow.

“Well, you can’t cook.” John shrugs. “So, you should be glad that I bother to make you anything at all, no matter how simple it may be.”

“Why on _Earth_ do you think I can’t cook?”

“Because you don’t.”

Sherlock eyes the doctor for a moment, then he begins chuckling. 

“John, I _love_ cooking.” Sherlock holds a hand over his heart. “I absolutely adore it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” John rolls his eyes, expecting Sherlock to crack a shit eating grin or something...but the younger man looks earnest. “Oh my fucking god, you _actually_ love cooking?”

“Yes, I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Whaaaat??” John throws his hands up in disbelief. “Are you any good?”

“What?”

“Can you, or can’t you cook well?”

“I can cook very well, my Grandmama taught me everything I know.” Sherlock says proudly. “I’m a fine chef.”

“Oh my god! I’m never cooking again!” John dances around the large open kitchen, twirling and spinning around the island, around Sherlock. “I’ve been living with a personal chef this entire time and I didn’t know it! I thought you could barely boil water for tea!”

“We have a kettle for that...” Sherlock folds his arms, a faint blush on his cheeks. “And don’t be so hasty, I didn’t say I was going to take up all of our cooking, I just said that I know _how_ to cook.”

John stops his parade around the kitchen. 

“Why the bloody hell not?” John frowns. “You do the cooking, and I’ll sloth about the flat in all your dressing gowns.”

“No thanks, you can keep up the cooking.” Sherlock crinkles his nose. “I don’t want to eat, I have no reason to cook.”

“But, you could’ve made something for _me_.”

“You didn’t ask.”

John stares at Sherlock for a moment, before playfully shoving his arm. 

“Ow, hey!” Sherlock pretends to be hurt. “Johnny, _rude_.”

“That’s for letting me slave in the kitchen when you could’ve prepared something!”

“ _Slaved_?” Sherlock looks at the doctor. “You made _pasta_ , that’s not hard.”

“Hmph!” John folds his arms. 

“Are you always so dramatic?” Sherlock asks. “What kind of question is _that_? Of course you are.”

“Will you seriously at least _consider_ cooking something for me, sometime?” John asks, in a very sweet voice. Sherlock looks in his eyes, and he can definitely see that John has exposed a part of himself to the detective. 

“Of course, my John.” Sherlock nods, and turns away again. _What the hell have I just agreed too? I don’t want to bloody cook a thing! That time could be used experimenting or...thinking. But, for John...I will._

“Yay! Thanks, Sherlock!” John’s voice is still terribly sweet, and Sherlock snickers. 

“Anything for you, John.” Sherlock sighs, trying to seem more annoyed about having promised to cook something, but he’s surprised at how...satisfied he feels. Maybe it’s the satisfaction of making John happy. And, John’s being far too cute to be annoyed with right now. “So,” Sherlock motions back to the ingredients John’s laid out. “There are quite a few things here, show me the recipe you’re working from.”

“Um...I haven’t one.”

“Huh?”

“This is from memory.” John explains. “It’s a family recipe and-”

“ _Impressive_.” Sherlock interjects, similar to the way John does when Sherlock is explaining something during a case. “Sorry, continue.”

“It’s fine, um...anyway,” John clears his throat. “This recipe has been passed down the family for years, and...the parents teach the kids and so on, and so on.”

“Oh...” Sherlock blinks a few times. “So, you’re sharing it with me...because...”

“You’re my son.” John can almost feel the line he’s stepping on underneath his toes. Referring to Sherlock as his child, while they’re both in their ‘adult’ head spaces...was something that they didn’t really do. Still, Sherlock was touched. 

“I’m your...son?” Sherlock repeats, because he wants to hear John say it again. 

“Without a doubt, you are.” John nods, reaching for the detective’s face. With a hand on his jaw, John brings the younger man closer. With their faces inches apart, Sherlock thinks that John is about to kiss his mouth, but John does not. The doctor tilts Sherlock’s face down a bit, and leaves a tender kiss on the younger’s forehead. 

Sherlock feels his heart do strange things in his chest, for some reason, he suddenly feels like crying. He doesn’t though. 

“John...”

“I love you.” John pets Sherlock’s face gently, before taking his hand away.

“John.” Sherlock takes the doctor in his arms, his heart still is yet to settle. “You are a lot of things to me...and, I love you in a lot of ways...it’s so strange to look at one person, and see many people there.”

“What do you mean?” John rubs soft circles into Sherlock’s back. 

“I see my best friend, my daddy, my flatmate, my work partner, my chef...”

“Oh, I understand.” John nods. 

“Do you see a lot in me as well?” Sherlock asks softly, chin resting atop John’s head. 

“Yes,” John says. “My little boy, my best friend, my sidekick detective, my-”

“What? _Sidekick_ , John?” Sherlock sputters a laugh, rolling his eyes. “You nutter, carry on.”

“I see my flatmate...and I see...” John’s voice trails off, his smile fades, but he’s not unhappy. Just...he doesn’t want to say the last one.

“John?”

“Sorry.”

“Are you alright?”

“It’s just-”

“The other way you see me, is the thing we can’t talk about...right?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, alright.” _So, he sees me as something else as well, because of the way he feels for me? Does that mean that I too see him that way?_

Sherlock pulls back from their embrace to look at John, he sees all of the things he’s mentioned. So, nothing new. Nothing like what John must be seeing. But, he does know where he’s seen another version of John before. After they kiss, and look each other in the eyes...Sherlock sees another John. The one he wants to hold him close, to kiss him. To make him feel safe, specifically while he’s big. But, what type of John is that? Sherlock wants to see _that_ John again.

~*~ 

_Sherlock slips into his mind palace, quickly navigating the halls to find his newest room. The one that is filled with the way he feels about John._

_When he enters it, he calls out into the open space._

_“John!” Sherlock calls, but he gets no response. “John, come here! I know you’re here somewhere! You can’t hide from-”_

_“Hello, Sherlock.” The detective hears the gentle voice from behind himself, and he spins quickly to face the voice._

_It’s John, of course it’s John. But, why does he look so..._

_“Is everything alright?” John asks, his familiar voice soothing, kind._

_“Yes, yes...everything is fine.” Sherlock nods, taking a few steps closer. “Can I ask you a question?”_

_“You can ask me anything, you know that.” John nods, though his brow furrows. He holds a hand up to Sherlock’s cheek. It’s so warm, it feels so real. “I can’t help but feel like something is wrong...”_

_“I suppose that there is.” Sherlock responds, eyes closing as he leans into the touch. “I don’t know how I feel about you...I’ve met you before, but I feel like...I don’t understand you.”_

_“Oh...” John keeps his furrowed brow. “I don’t know what to say to that.”_

_“What do you see, when you look at me?”_

_“Huh?”_

_“What do you see?” Sherlock repeats. "John's just admitted that he sees a different me...and I think that you're the John that I see when I have those...those **feelings** , and I want to know what John you are. So, tell me what you see when you look at me, and maybe I could understand how you feel."_

_“I see...you, Sherlock.” John replies, the detective growls._

_“No, really_ **_look_ ** _at me, tell me what you see.”_

_“I see_ **_you_** _.”_

_“You don’t understand.”_

_“I see you.”_

_“Stop it.”_

_“I see-”_

_“Damn it, John!” Sherlock pushes the hand away from his face, taking a step away from this version of John. The brunette ruffles his curls, frustrated. “How do you_ **_feel_ ** _about me?”_

_“I love you.”_

_“Yes, but-”_

_“You don’t understand...Sherlock, I_ **_love_ ** _you.”_

_“Wait...” Sherlock takes his hands from his hair, looking at this version of John. “In what way?”_

_“Huh?”_

_“How do you love me? You can tell me, can’t you?”_

_John simply shakes his head, an apologetic smile on his face._

_“No, this is_ **_my_ ** _mind palace. I control this world, I can make you tell me!”_

_“You’ve got to go back to the real world now.” John takes a few steps back. “I’ll miss you.”_

_“No! Damn it, John! Tell me!” Sherlock yells, but soon the walls of the palace fall away, and suddenly...Sherlock wasn’t in the palace anymore._

~*~

Sherlock blinked his eyes open slowly. He looks around the kitchen before in front of him where he sees the stove, and hands. One hand holding the handle of the skillet, the other lightly stirring diced garlic. But, those hands weren’t his own. They were John’s. Sherlock’s hands were around John’s waist, from behind. 

_How did I end up like this? Weren’t we just standing together having a chat?_ Sherlock’s brow creases as he doesn’t remember John starting to cook, nor does he remember holding the doctor like this. _I must’ve gone into zombie mode for a bit._

“John?” Sherlock holds the older tighter in his arms, John smiles at the gentle squeeze. 

“Hm?”

“Was I silent, for long?”

“Um...not really? A minute or two.” John shrugs, tapping the wooden spoon on the edge of the dish, before next reaching for a small glass bowl, filled with diced onions. 

“Oh...alright.” Sherlock accepts that. “Can I help cook?”

“You can help first, by choosing a bottle of wine.” John chuckles, petting Sherlock’s forehead with his free hand. 

Sherlock hums and releases the doctor, before crossing the kitchen. 

“So, how long?” John asks. 

“How long...? What? Since I’ve eaten?”

“No,” John shakes his head. “How long have you liked to cook?”

“Oh,” Sherlock replies. “Well, I’ve told you. My Grandmama taught me, and that was when I was quite young. So, cooking does bring me fond memories. I’ve liked to cook for quite some time now.”

“I see.”

“But, to be completely honest...I love cooking because _science_ , John. The measurements, chemical reactions, experiments.”

“My god, you’re right. I should’ve know!” John exclaims. “Of _course_ , you like to cook!”

Sherlock grins as he examines the date on one bottle of wine, comparing it to the next. “You think you’ve got me figured out now then, do you?”

“Psh,” John scoffs. “That’s damn impossible.”

“Good, it better be.” Sherlock brings over a good bottle. “I like keeping you on your tiny toes.”

“ _Tiny_?” John looks down at his socked feet. “They’re plenty big."

“John, all of you is small.”

“Well now, _that_ I beg to differ.”

“Of course _you_ do.” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “How’s this?” He presents the selected wine to John. 

“Oooh, excellent.” John grins. “Open it up, I’ll grab the glasses.” He leaves the stove, leaving the skillet’s fire on low.


	59. Now, A Toast

“What should we toast to?”

“We should...hm,” John hums. “We should toast to...dunno, why not just ‘to us’ or something?”

“That’s lame, but I’ll take it.” Sherlock raises his glass. 

“It’s not lame it’s sincere!” John retorts, raising his glass as well. “To us.”

“To us.” Sherlock says as they bring their glasses together, each swirling the wine before sipping it. 

“ _Oh_ , that’s good.” John smiles at Sherlock. “You’ve picked a good one.”

“Thank Mycroft.” Sherlock says before he can stop himself. “Or, no...you’re right. Thank me.”

“Nope, too late.” John raises his glass again. “To Mycroft.”

“Fine, to Mycroft.” Sherlock clinks their glasses again, taking another sip of the wine. “It is nice though.”

“Yes, very fragrant.” John nods, walking back over to the stove to check on the food. 

“Speaking of fragrant, that food smells _amazing_.” Sherlock sets his wine down and slumps over the island counter. “When can we _eat_ it? I’m dying.”

“In about...fifteen minutes. It’s just starting to thicken, and then-”

“Ugh, John...don’t _describe_ the lovely food to me. Unfair.”

“Sorry, mate.” John chuckles, bringing his glass to his lips again. “How much do you imagine he paid for this wine? It must be a lot.”

“It was a gift.” Sherlock responds quickly. 

“How do you know?”

“Did you look at the bottle? I mean _looked_ at it?” Sherlock asks. “It’s clear, if you just-”

“No, no.” John shakes his head. “You said that you didn’t want to be too brainy, remember? You don’t have to.”

“Oh...thanks.”

“Sure,” John takes the lid off the pot and picking up the wooden spoon. “Come here.”

Sherlock isn’t sure what John wants, but he does as he’s told. Once he’s over to the stove, beside John, he watches as the older dips the spoon into the pot. John blows over the small helping to cool it a bit, before offering the spoon to Sherlock. The younger man blinks a few times before letting his lips part enough to take the sample into his mouth. He chews thoughtfully before moaning. 

“Ah, _yes_ , Johnny.” Sherlock can’t help but smiling at the hearty comfort food. “That’s going to go great with more of this wine.”

“It does go well with wine, no wonder it’s Harry’s favourite food.” John says curtly before even being able to stop himself. Sherlock frowns, licking his tongue over his mouth before speaking. 

“That was harsh, John...” Sherlock says. 

“It must’ve been for even _you_ to comment on how cruel it was...” John scoffs. “Sorry, sorry. I’ve just gotten a tad bitter.”

“What’s wrong?” Sherlock rests his head on John’s shoulder, his curls tickling John’s neck, ear and face. 

“Making this meal has made me think of my sister.” John leans his head against Sherlock’s. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be...just, don’t speak so ill of your sister.”

“You speak illy of Mycroft.”

“Well, he deserves it.” Sherlock chuckles as he says this, not meaning his words of course. 

“I don’t know if Harry does.”

“She...doesn’t.” Sherlock has difficulty saying it, because he doesn’t actually know if she does or not. He doesn’t have enough information on the subject. 

“You’re right.” John rolls his eyes, reaching for his wine glass, taking a large swallow. “I’m being a hypocrite now, I suppose.”

“Hm.” Sherlock hums an indecisive note.

“Dinner’s just about ready, wanna set the table?”

“Sure.”


	60. Dinner and Tell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY, nsfw warning. 
> 
> Just because they talk about sex, and then John proceeds to have a dirty mind after the fact. Nothing graphic. 
> 
> Carry on, my dears :)

Sherlock moaned throughout the meal, giving John every platitude that he could think of. John just blushed and tried not to grin. He’s always loved Sherlock’s praise. 

They ate together in the beautiful stone house, while sipping good wine and talking. Both of them were on their second glass now, also their second helping of dinner. Sherlock hasn’t eaten this much in eons. 

“John, tell me something.” Sherlock swirls his glass, eyeing John with a full-belly induced smile. 

“Ok,” John props his chin up on his hand. “What do you want to know?”

“Well,” Sherlock motions to the house around them. “This place reminds you of romance? Tell me about romance.”

“You mean...about romance in general? Or my personal experience with it?”

“You, John.” Sherlock points to him. “What was your first kiss like?”

John sputters a laugh as he reaches for his own glass. “It was _anything_ but romantic.”

“Did you fuck it up?” Sherlock asks, John a bit surprised when he curses. 

“No, I didn’t ‘fuck it up’.” John sips from his glass. “We were both incredibly young, and incredibly nervous and...it was just awkward.”

“Well, tell me about it.” Sherlock looks at John from across the table. “Tell me about it.”

“Fine.” John rolls his eyes. “I was...ten, no...eleven? Probably ten.”

“Uh-huh.” Sherlock drinks from his glass.

“There was this girl I fancied and-”

“ _Girl_.” Sherlock audibly takes that mental note. “Sorry, proceed.”

“Yes, a girl.” John gives Sherlock’s leg a light tap under the table with his foot. “And, I thought she was literally an angel. At the time, she looked like one.”

“You said ‘at the time’ as if she doesn’t look like an angel anymore.” Sherlock comments, setting down his glass. 

“She doesn’t...she’s gotten quite tired looking with age.” John shrugs. “I’m sure I have as well, it’s not an insult.”

Sherlock hums and eyes John, ready to hear more.

“So, this girl...everyday, she sat next to me...in every class.”

Sherlock nods, to show he’s listening.

“She always wore ribbons in her hair, and I liked them so much.” John smiles. “She had one to match every outfit and-”

“Do you just have a thing for ribbons?” Sherlock wonders if he could invest in some. He’s not sure what he’d do with them. Maybe put them in his hair, it was long enough. Or, maybe he could-

“ _No_ , I don’t have a thing for ribbons.” John takes another sip of his wine. “Can I finish the story?”

“Sorry.”

“Thank you.” John clears his throat. “So, one day...I got the courage to tell her how much I liked the ribbons. And this girl was so quiet, I didn’t expect her bold response. She blinks at me a few times, then says ‘what else do you like about me?’ and I bloody _froze_.”

“You didn’t tell her what else you liked about her?”

“No, no. I did...just, I blurted it all out, then asked her on a date.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, I know.” John laughs. “Mind you, we were like 10 or 11...which looking back on it, was _way_ too young for dating, in my opinion.”

“Agreed.”

“But, she said ‘yes’ so, I was over the moon.” John smiles.

“Ok.”

“So, I run home, tell my mum and dad...and my mum is so put off by it.” John rolls his eyes. “She tells me off for being too young, and made me feel guilty for even being interested in girls ‘so soon’ in the first place. My dad says I’m not too young to at least be ‘interested’ so, he says I can go. My parents fight about it, and I feel even more guilty and I go hide in Harry’s room.”

“Aw, poor John.” Sherlock pokes his lower lip out sympathetically, it’s not a sarcastic gesture.

“I know, ‘poor John’ indeed.” John nods. 

“But, you do kiss her eventually, right?”

“Yup...I borrowed a few dollars from my dad, and I take her to go see a movie early on Saturday afternoon.”

“Cute.”

“Yup...and then I take her back to my house and-”

“Oh _god_ , John.”

“Shut up, I made her lunch.” John laughs, Sherlock does too. “Get your mind out of the gutter!”

“Did you make her this?” Sherlock motions to the food on his plate.

“No, just sandwiches.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Yeah.”

“So, when did you kiss her?”

“During lunch, _she_ kissed me.”

“So, what made it so unromantic?”

“I had food on my mouth, and her lips were wet...with who knows what.” John rolls his eyes. “And, there was just mess all over our mouths. It was so sloppy and she wouldn’t stop apologizing afterwards even when I told her not to.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad though.” Sherlock shrugs. “Our first kiss was sloppy.”

“Huh?”

“The first time you and I kissed, I was little...I remember my mouth being spitty.” Sherlock chuckles, sipping from his glass.

“Yeah, but you were _little_.” John says. “There’s the excuse...our first kiss when you were big wasn’t a mess right? When was our first _real_ kiss...ummm...” John is thinking. 

“The day when I’d asked you to get juice from Mrs. Hudson’s flat...I was quite big when that happened.” Sherlock remembers. 

“Oh, yeah...I remember you telling me to kiss you.” John nods.

“Because, you were too scared to just do it.” Sherlock gives a smirk. 

“I wasn’t scared to kiss you, I was concerned that you were wavering between your big and little state...and I didn’t know if ‘big you’ minded being kind of present while I kissed you.”

“Oh...really?”

“Yeah.” John avoids Sherlock’s eyes now. 

“I didn’t mind.”

“Well, I know that now.”

“How?”

“Because you kissed me back that time...” John smiles slightly. “Your lips were moving with mine.”

Sherlock is turning a bit rouge now as well. 

“Alright.” Sherlock says it like a confirmation, but there was nothing to confirm. 

“So,” John says, drinking from his glass.

“So?”

“Tell me about your first kiss...or had you had one before me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, John.” Sherlock chuckles. “I’d first kissed someone when I was sixteen.”

“Go on.” John’s chin is again propped up on his hand. 

“It was after school, and I was having a cigarette when-”

“You smoked even back then?” 

“When I could steal a few from Mycroft, yes.” Sherlock nods. “But it wasn’t often, he wasn’t home much when I was a teenager.”

“Oh...”

“Yeah, so...I was having a smoke, when this guy walks up-”

“Ok, so it was a boy.”

“Yes.”

“Go on.” John says again, swirling his glass with his free hand. 

“He asked if he could have a drag from my cigarette, he’d left his at home.” 

“And then...he kissed you?”

"No, I’m giving backstory, like you did with your kiss.” Sherlock frowns. “Stop interrupting, John.”

“You interrupted me plenty!”

“Anyway,” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “So, I let him have a few pulls from my cigarette.” He says.

“Why did you let him, though? You don’t like people.”

“I hadn’t any friends, and no one to talk to...” Sherlock sighs. “To be honest, I was lonely, though I’d never admit it. Not even to myself back then. But, to have someone to interact with seemed fine at the time, especially if it was only for smoking.”

“But, there’s another reason too, wasn’t there?” John was trying to get Sherlock to admit that he’d found the boy good-looking, but Sherlock didn’t catch that hint.

“Oh, well...I also thought it would be convenient to have another person to bum cigarettes from.”

John sighs when Sherlock doesn’t get it, but lets him continue the story.

“I went over to his house after school sometimes, he’d play games on his computer while I did homework.” Sherlock explains. “We’d pass cigarettes back and forward.”

“Um...cute?” John isn’t sure if it is or not. “So, when did you guys kiss? And, he kissed you, I’m gathering?”

“Yes, he did kiss me.” Sherlock nods. “We were passing a cigarette, and I was trying to explain to him rhythm of languages and-”

“Rhythms of what?”

“Speech patterns, like the frequency and tone of which people speak, usually based on their native language. Like, you know how you can’t understand another language, but based of the way it sounds, you can tell which it is? Well, there’s a certain rhythm at which the words are said and-”

“Ok, ok...just get to the kiss!”

“Fine.” Sherlock frowns. “No one ever wants to hear about the speech rhythms and-”

“Sherlock! Tell me later!”

“Fine!” Sherlock retorts. “I was talking, and I’d passed the cigarette to him, and then...next thing I know, his mouth is on mine...and I freeze, and I panic.”

“Did you kiss him back?”

"He pulled back before I could. I’m not even sure if I really _wanted_ to kiss him back.” Sherlock shrugs. “When he separated us, I began spewing every fact about everything that I could, only stopping when he passed me the cigarette.”

“Did he get annoyed?”

“He just smiled and listened.” Sherlock shrugs. “When the cigarette was finished I said ‘thank you’ and ran home.”

“Did you guys kiss anymore after that?”

“We stopped hanging out as much after the kiss, because I was frightened that he’d want to do it again. And, I didn’t know why he did it in the first place, and I wasn’t sure how to do it again, if I wanted to...” Sherlock explains. “But, I saw him around the school...he never seemed upset with me. Sometimes he’d wave to me in the halls. I think that...he just understood that I was...different.”

“Oh...”

“But, at the end of the school year, he randomly found me and told me he was moving away. I just stood there, didn’t say anything.” Sherlock says. “He explained that he’d maybe never see me again, still I said nothing. Then he leaned forward, kissed my mouth...and again, I did nothing in return. But, it still felt like he didn’t expect me to. The only thing was, this kiss was long and lingering...and I really think that I wanted to kiss him back, but I didn’t know how to get my body to move...so, there I stood. Being kissed.”

“You never saw him again?”

“I did, a few years ago.”

“Did you two speak?”

“I saw him, he didn’t see me.” Sherlock shakes his head. “I don’t know what I would’ve said or done anyway.”

“Sherlock...” John feels sorry for the detective, and strangely jealous as well. 

The younger man just shrugs, sighs. “It’s over now, so no need in feeling down about it.”

“He probably wanted to shag you.” John comments, and the comment literally almost knocks Sherlock out of his chair. 

“ _John Watson_ , my god!” The younger squeaks.

“He probably did!”

“I didn’t lose my virginity until quite a few years after that.”

“Your _what_?!” John exclaims, nearly knocking over his wine glass.

“Let me guess,” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Just like everyone else, you just assumed I was a virgin?”

“I mean, you’re the one who said ‘everything else is transport’ so, yes, I assumed so...” John shrugs. “But also, Mycroft said that you were.”

“He teases me, because he believes that virginity is more of a...moral thing, rather than an actual ‘item’ lost in a sexual act.” Sherlock says. “So, because I’ve never had sex with someone I’ve actually had feelings for, he claims me to still be an untainted virgin.”

“You...didn’t have feelings for them?” John sounds like he feels bad for Sherlock again. “But, sex is always better when you...feel something for them.”

“Well, the sex was fine.”

“Man or woman?”

“Man. I was in my twenties, and I was still in uni.”

“Give. Me. Details.” John finishes his glass of wine and reaches for the nearly empty bottle, splashing the last of it’s contents into his empty vessel.   “How much sex have you had?? How’d you even get to shag him? Were you like...promiscuous at one point?” John rambles out questions. “ _Blimey_ , did you approach him through a crowd of people, and point to him and say in your deep sexy voice ‘you, my bed, now’ and drag him to your dorm by his collar?”

“What? John, don’t be ridiculous.”

“Were you shagging all the time before we met? When did you turn into Sherlock ‘Everything Else is Transport’ Holmes?”

Sherlock groans. “I was not...shagging all the time.”

“Tell me everything!”

“John...I will, just calm down.” Sherlock is amused by John’s intrigue.

“Please do tell, go on.”

“Why do you even care so much?” Sherlock is twiddling his hands now. 

“Because!” John exclaims, then realizes that he’s probably putting Sherlock off a bit, so he calms down. “Because, we’re friends...right?”

Sherlock doesn’t answer right away, but he does mumble a ‘yes’.

“Well, then...it’s fine for friends to tell friends things, yeah?” John asks.

“I suppose, but...I’m not ‘Three Continents Watson’ or anything.”

“I’d hope not...” John says, but Sherlock cuts him a confused face, and John clears his throat. “I’m not saying...anything bad about it...It’s just...I don’t know why I said that.”

“You were hoping I was a virgin, then?” Sherlock sighs. “Sorry to disappoint you. Now you think I’m unclean, like Mycroft said...you wanted me ‘untainted’.”

“I was just _teasing_!” John insists. “I wasn’t saying that you’re dirty.”

“That’s how I felt...after I...” Sherlock is looking at his folded hands. “I was in my early twenties...and, there was a man.  And, I was fond of him.” Sherlock sighs. “Not like how I feel about you, but...he was nice.”

“So you had a ‘crush’ on him?”

“Sort of...? I don’t know, it was confusing.”

“Hm...ok. I understand.”

“Yeah...and, well...we weren’t dating.” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Thank _god_ , he was annoying.”

“Then, why’d you like him?”

“He was smart.” Sherlock shrugs. “One of the smartest blokes on campus.”

“Gotcha, keep going.”

“So, anyway...he was an associate of mine, and we would experiment together in the lab, like normal science things. But then, in our dorm rooms we messed around. It’s just that...there were just hormones...and he gave me the release for them.” Sherlock speaks, avoiding John’s eyes. “He’d teach me things...about intimacy, and so on. It started out simple, just touching, kissing...over time things just got more complex...and one day, we started having sex.”

“Can...I ask you something, then?”

“ _Yes_ , John...I was the bottom.” Sherlock informs him. “Well, _mostly_.”

“Oh god, oh god, oh god.” John begins picturing things. “ _Amazing_.”

“What is?” Sherlock finally dares to look at him. 

“All of that is, really.” John nods. 

“Oh...well, alright.” Sherlock shrugs. “Anyway, he was the only man I’ve ever...had intercourse with. As I’ve already told you.”

“Wow,” John breathes. “Well, I’ve learned a lot today.”

“You...don’t think poorly of me?” Sherlock asks, voice soft. Like he’s afraid John will say ‘yes’.

“What? For that -- Sherlock, it’s human nature to desire sex.” John shrugs. “I mean, I know not everyone wants it, but...it’s completely natural if you do.”

“Ok...” Sherlock looks back at his hands. “And...it’s ok if I want it...with you?”

John is caught completely off guard. Completely, wholly, entirely, beyond _belief_ -

“Sorry,” Sherlock chuckles, picking up his glass. “It’s the wine talking.” He says, before downing the rest of the glass’s contents. 

“Oh...it’s fine.” Is what John says, but his brain is spiraling at what Sherlock’s just said. He wishes that he’d replied with: _You want to have sex with me? Yes, that is beyond fine._ But of course, his ‘slighter brain’ doesn’t spit that out, and he’s left just blinking at Sherlock, trying to pretend that he doesn’t want it too. And he’s 90% sure that it’s not just the wine talking. They haven’t had too much, anyway. A couple glasses each, well, two and a half for John. 

“We should open another bottle.” Sherlock says as he picks up the empty one form the table. “I’m going to put the leftovers in the fridge, is that fine?” He asks as he crosses the kitchen. 

“Yeah, I’m stuffed.” John replies automatically, he’s still in shock. 

“Pity, we didn’t have any dessert.” 

_Your arse would’ve been a fine treat._ John think’s immediately feeling guilty for still having sexual thoughts, even though Sherlock’s moved on just fine. Or rather, who knows what’s going on in that Sherlockian brain of his. Still, giving a fair bet...Sherlock’s mind probably isn’t on sex. _Control your mind, John. You’re not an animal. You don’t have to think like one. Be decent._

“Damn it, _Mycroft_.” Sherlock open and closes many cabinets. “Where do you keep all the bloody...ah, here we are.” Sherlock turns to John, holding the container. “It’s _glass_ how fancy.” He jokes as he takes the silicone top off of the glass storage container as he brings it over to the pot on the stove.

“Ugh, we have dishes.” John comments, glancing at the ones already in the sink, then the ones on the table...and the ones on the stove.

“No worries, we can leave them for Mycroft’s people to handle.”

“That’d be mean.”

“Eh...” Sherlock shrugs, unimpressed.

“We can do them tomorrow, I feel too lovely to do it right now.”

“You feel ‘lovely’, John?” Sherlock asks from the stove as he scoops the food into the container. 

“Yeah, wine makes me feel...happy. Like, just warm and smiley.”

“Hm, agreed.” Sherlock looks up at him. “You know what else would make us feel warm and smiley?”

_Take me upstairs, no...here on the table. No, the couch. No...anywhere is good..._ John thinks. _Brain, please stop._

“What would, Sherlock?” John asks.

“A bath in that huge tub you love so much.” Sherlock grins. “We could have a few more glasses of wine, a nice warm bath...the bubbles you wanted.”

John’s jaw literally _falls_ open. He’s nodding so hard that he’ll probably pull a neck muscle. Sherlock chuckles, then goes to put the container in the fridge. 

The doctor picks up their wine glasses from the table. 

“Leave everything, upstairs now.” John holds the empty wine glasses in his hands. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!”

“John, we should probably put away the rest of-”

“Since when do you care about messes? Let’s _go_!” John hops from foot to foot excitedly. “Grab another bottle of wine, nothing else!” 


	61. Extraordinary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW warning, mentions of arousal. Nothing graphic,  
> Carry on :)

“How hot do you want the water?” Sherlock asks, reaching one of his hands under the stream.

“Boiling, I want to be cooked alive.”

“You’re so...wonderfully morbid, John.” 

“As I should be after all I’ve been through in my life.” John rolls his eyes, grinning. He finally works the bottle open, and pours the wine into their glasses, setting them on the counter when they were filled. 

“I did mean it as a compliment.” Sherlock stands up straight, his back to John as he watches the bath begin to fill. He’s about to make another comment, about how much he enjoys every aspect of John’s personality, even the part about him being morbid. However, Sherlock is caught off guard by the sudden hands at his hips, trailing towards the hem of his tshirt. 

“Arms up.” John instructs, and Sherlock doesn’t have time to protest, because the shirt is already beginning to be pulled upwards, and his arms raise automatically. 

“Th-thanks.” Sherlock blushes when the shirt is removed. For some reason, he already feels shy. Even though John’s seen him all kinds of naked recently. And, he’s not even _naked_ yet, his shirt has just been removed. 

John drops the tshirt to the floor, away from the bath. The two men make eye contact for a moment before John reaches for his own shirt. 

“No, I’ll do it.” Sherlock blurts out, the words sounding more desperate than he wanted them to. John bit his bottom lip, fighting back a giggle at how cute Sherlock’s tiny outburst was. The doctor nods, raising his arms. 

Sherlock takes John’s shirt off in one fluid motion, dropping it to the floor near his own. Next, Sherlock begins on John’s trousers, unbuttoning them with nimble fingers, unzipping them as well. 

“Are you aroused?” Sherlock asks, pausing his motions before flickering his light eyes up to John’s. 

“Just slightly...sorry.”

“No, it’s fine...I just wanted to know.” Sherlock pushes the trousers off of John’s lower half and the doctor steps out of them. The detective doesn’t take off John’s pants just yet, he stands still, his own arms at his sides, knowing that John would take off his shorts now. 

The older male slips the shorts off of Sherlock, leaving him in just his nappy. They had both forgotten about it. The nappy reminded John that his little boy was deep inside of Sherlock, somewhere alone. It did help his arousal vanish quite a bit. 

“Are you wet?” John asks, rubbing the back of his hand against Sherlock’s arm. 

“Dry.” Sherlock replies, untaping the tabs on the nappy himself.  


“No, me.” John nudges Sherlocks legs apart a bit, and slips the nappy from between them, folding it up. His eyes linger on Sherlock’s crotch. He wasn’t aroused at all, however, John was eyeing his pubic hair. The dark hair was even more neatly groomed than before. “You touched it up today?”

“Huh?” Sherlock looks down. “Oh, when I went to shave my face earlier, I also tended to ‘there’ just...because, I like to keep it neat.”

“Ah, I see.” John nods. “Well, don’t mind me....I’m not as pretty as you are.” 

“I think you’re pretty, my John.” Sherlock helps the doctor out of his pants, and John kicks them over to the rest of their clothes. He feels Sherlock’s eyes on him, really seeing John’s nude form for the first time. The other time John was naked in front of him, Sherlock was little and they were in the shower. Because Sherlock was little, he didn’t really notice John’s nudity. 

John is blushing under Sherlock’s wandering eyes, so he quickly moves to put in bubbles into the bath. He reaches over the rim of the tub to examine the lovely choices. Lavender, cedar wood, sage, mint...a lot of choices. 

“Which one do you think?” John asks, then reads the labels aloud to Sherlock. 

“You’ve got a really cute little bum, John.” Sherlock giggles and the doctor turns back around quickly. 

“ _Sherlock_! Don’t...” John presses his lips into a thin line, an attempt to keep from smiling bashfully. But, Sherlock is walking closer to him, and when they’re standing very close, Sherlock leans down and kisses John’s crown. 

“Lavender will help us to relax and sleep afterwards. So, that’s my choice.” Sherlock reaches passed John to get the bottle, pouring a fair helping under the stream and the water begins to form a lovely layer of suds. 

When Sherlock stands upright again, he smiles at John, pets his cheek then crosses the bathroom to go to the counter, where their wine glasses reside. He returns to John, and gives the doctor his own glass. 

“Well, let’s get in, shall we?” Sherlock arches a brow, then steps into the bath, immediately moans, as the water engulfs his feet, and as he settles down completely, he moans again. “ _Oh_ , this is so nice.”

“Jealous, jealous, jealous.” John says as he balances on one foot to slip off his socks that he’d forgotten about. He’s careful not to spill his drink, meanwhile, Sherlock is still moaning. 

“John hurry.”

“I am, I am.” John slips off his second sock then steps into the bath. “Oh god, _yes_.”

“Isn’t it extraordinary?”

“Sherlock...”

“Hm?”

“Go on without me.”

Sherlock sips from his glass, then gives a breathy laugh. 

“Go where?” The curly haired man asks. 

“Back to 221B,” John replies. “I refuse to go back to our inferior bath.”

“You’ll come with me, if I go back to 221B.”

“No I won’t, this is too much to give up.”

“Earlier, you said you’d go where I’d go.”

“That was before I fell in love with this bath, Sherlock.” John sinks deeper into the water, his slick legs moving against Sherlock’s. “Sorry.” John says, but doesn’t move his own legs away. 

“I don’t mind.” Sherlock says, taking a large drink from his wine glass before setting it on the marble ledge of the bath. “So, Johnny...”

“Hm?”

“You’re glad you came on this trip?”

“Obviously.” John nods. “This is one of the best things you’ve ever done.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really.” John sets his glass down at well. “I thanked you for bringing me earlier, but you were napping.”

“When we were outside?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” Sherlock takes his mental notes before humming, then they were silent for a while. Sherlock broke the quiet. “John?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you come over here?”

“Sure.” John moves through the water until he reached Sherlock. “What’s up?”

Sherlock opens his arms and gives John a dimpled grin with his purple stained mouth. John smiles back letting himself cascade into Sherlock’s open arms. 

“Hello, John.” Sherlock pet John’s golden hair. 

“Hey, Sherlock.” John closes his eyes. “This bath is amazing.”

“Yes, it is.” Sherlock agrees. “You are as well.”

“Thanks.” John turns his head to kiss Sherlock’s cheek. “Hey?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think we might be insane?” John asks quite suddenly.

“What?”

“Like, with all the many roles we play? You in nappies, me changing them?”

“I’ve wondered that as well.” Sherlock chuckles, holding John tighter.

“What’d you conclude?”

“Well, I wondered whether it was absolutely mental or not...and then I thought ‘I really bloody enjoy this, I couldn’t give a damn if I tried’ and so, that’s that.”

John wheezes a hearty laugh, Sherlock joins him. 

“That’s one way of thinking about it, yeah.” John nods.

“It’s just...people do things for pleasure all the time.” Sherlock continues. “Drugs, drinking, sex...gambling, even...horrid things far more extreme than those...most of those things I’ve tried.” He says. “But, out of all of them...I think wishing to be treated as a child, is _nothing_. It’s unusual, sure. Still, I bet that more people would like it, if they bothered to try.”

John hums, fidgeting a bit nervously. _I bet that I would_. He thinks. 

“Do you understand what I mean?” Sherlock asks. 

“Yeah, I do.” John nods. “It makes perfect sense, and I don’t think infantilism is ‘extreme’ at all, I think it’s quite nice.”

“Then, why’d you ask if we were insane?”

“I just...think about if we are sometimes.” John shrugs. “Not just the baby stuff, like...us enjoying investigating murders as a hobby.”

“Oh...well, if we’re insane or not about that one is far more debatable.” Sherlock laughs, rubbing a wet hand over John’s hair. 

“I know, right?”

“If I had to go insane with someone, I’m glad it was you.”

“Thanks, same to you.” John takes his hand, rubbing gently on Sherlock’s abdomen. The younger closes his eyes again and tips his head back. “I’m sorry.”

“Huh?” Sherlock replies.

“I said I’m sorry.” John repeats. 

“But, why?”

“That the people who have touched you before...didn’t love you.” John’s gentle hand sweeps over Sherlock’s abdomen again. 

The detective didn’t say anything, just kept his head tilted back, eyes closed. 

“Well, cigarette boy might’ve...he seemed to care about you.” John shrugs, keeping his hand rubbing circles on Sherlock’s tummy. 

“I like when you touch me, John.” Sherlock finally speaks. “I trust you.”

“I trust you, too.”

“Do you like when I touch you?” Sherlock opens his eyes, and looks at John. 

The doctor nods. 

“Good.” Sherlock smiles, then leans his head back again. “Very good.”


	62. Hazardous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW warning. Again, nothing graphic. Just bits and suggestive behaviour.  
> Onward, mighty readers >:D  
> INTO VICTORY...ignore me.

The next bottle of wine is empty, and the men are still in the bath. Quite a bit of time has passed, enough for the bath to cool almost completely. The doctor and the detective took turns dozing off, both of their hands massaging each other through each short drifty nap. 

“We need to put in more hot water.” Sherlock grumbles, lazily reaching for the tap, but not quite reaching it. 

“No, we should get out.” John shakes his head. “We’re both a tad drunk...I don’t want us falling completely asleep in here...that’d be awful.” John looks around the bathroom as if something might’ve changed. 

“You’re...you’re a tad drunk.” Sherlock points an accusing finger at the older man. “I’m fine.”

“Shut up, just...get out.” John pulls himself from Sherlock’s arms. 

“Did we bathe?”

“Yeah, remember? We took turns scrubbing each other up.”

“Oh, yeah.” Sherlock sits up. “The bath is cold, John.”

“I know, that’s why we’re getting out.”

“I’m pruny.”

“We both are...again, that’s why we’re getting out.”

“I have to pee.”

“Then get _out_.” John says as he exits the bath himself, padding across the floor to the towels. “Christ, even these towels are lush.”

“ _Lush_ towels.” Sherlock snickers as he clumsily gets out of the tub. 

“They’re really soft, you’ll see in a minute.”

“Where do I pee, John?”

“Over there, silly.” John points to the toilet and Sherlock chuckles. 

“Oh, I see it, John.”

“I’d hope so.” John rubs the towel over his own hair. “Hurry up, I have to too.”

“Go with me, then.”

“Shut up.”

“ _You_...shut up, John.” Sherlock says from in front of the toilet. “You shut your mouth.”

“You’re _drunk_.” John replies. 

“I am not.” Sherlock replies. “I’m a high functioning sociopath.” 

John doesn’t know _why_ , but that’s hilarious. He laughs hard, bending in half with mirth. It’s contagious and Sherlock begins laughing as well.

“Stop it, John.” Sherlock’s tone is scolding, even though his giggles. “I’m trying to concentrate.”

John silences himself, letting Sherlock focus. The doctor goes to drain the bath, then to the toilet when Sherlock is done. The detective is giggling on the other side of the bathroom. 

“Look at me, John. Hey, John.” Sherlock waves his arms aimlessly to get his attention.

“Hm?” John turns his head as he finishes, flushes. 

“Are you looking, yeah?”

“I am.”

“Ok, good.” Sherlock is giggling cheekily. “Guess what I am.” Sherlock is standing in the doorway between the bathroom and the master bedroom. Just...standing there.

“An idiot in a doorway?” John laughs teasingly. 

“What? Nooo, c’mon Johnny.” Sherlock pouts. “Guess, damn it.”

“W’the hell am I supposed to guess from?” John begins picking up their clothes from the floor. “You’re just bloody standing there.”

“I’m a _fire hazard_ ,” Sherlock points an accusatory finger at the doctor. “John, you fool.”

“You’re a _fire hazard_?” John raises a brow. “What the-”

“I’m an object blocking a doorway,” Sherlock motions to himself. “During or in case of a fire, all doorways should be cleared to make exits safer for people to pass through quickly, or easier for firemen to enter, ya know?”

“Even when you’re tipsy,” John rises upright with arms full of clothes, only to stumble in the opposite direction that he wanted to go in. “You’re still smart as tits.”

“Are ‘tits’ smart, John?” Sherlock chuckles, making his way into the bedroom with John. “I shouldn’t be drunk, we’ve each had like...a bottle of wine each, is that even much?”

“ _You’re_ the smart one.” Is John’s reply.

“You’re the _doctor_.” Is Sherlock’s. 

“That’s a damn good point, isn’t it?” John chuckles. “I don’t remember how strong the wine was supposed to be. But, roughly a bottle each...and we’re not normally drinkers. So, we’re tipsy...but a feel good tipsy, not so much piss drunk. Right?”

“I feel good, yes.” Sherlock throws himself onto the bed, much in the way that John had earlier. “Come lay down with me.”

“Hold on, I need to empty our pickets...wait not pickets, _pockets_.” John corrects himself as he pulls their mobiles from the pockets of their trousers. Also, Sherlock’s dummy. 

John joins Sherlock on the bed. He puts their mobiles on the bedside table, then they stare at each other for a while. John breaks the eye contact. 

“Do you want your dummy?” He offers it, even though Sherlock isn’t little. It’s just the only thing he could think of to say. Sherlock’s eyes dive down to the dummy in John’s hand, and he takes it. But, Sherlock doesn’t put it in his own mouth, he holds it out in front of John’s. 

“Open.” Sherlock says gently, nudging the silicone nipple to John’s lips. 

Usually, John would become nervous and offer the dummy back to Sherlock. But this time...maybe it’s the wine, but...John lets his lips part and he takes the nipple into his mouth. For a moment, it just sits there, awkwardly amongst his tongue. 

“You have to suckle, it’ll feel more comforting.” Sherlock taps the dummy’s plastic ring.

John does as he’s told, giving the dummy a few rhythmic sucks. It fits better in his mouth when he does this, and the action makes his eye-lids heavy, like he’s been sated. Sherlock smiles happily as this happens. 

_He likes it_. Sherlock thinks, reaching up to pet John’s hair, trailing his fingernails along John’s scalp, soothing him further. The older male hums appreciatively. 

“John,” Sherlock begins. “You don’t have to be little, if you don’t want. But, you’re welcome to have a dummy as you please. Should you find it relaxing.”

John’s eyes open back fully as he studies Sherlock, but he doesn’t protest. He only nods. 

_So, he’d like to have a dummy more often?_ Sherlock takes the mental notes as he continues to pet John’s silky, still damp hair. 

“I’ll be right back.” Sherlock kisses John’s forhead as he climbs out of bed. 

Sherlock leaves the bedroom, reentering the bathroom. He grabs one of the towels, noting that John was right, they do feel quite nice. The detective wraps the towel around his waist as he leaves the bathroom. 

“I’m going downstairs to get my nappy bag.” Sherlock announces then he leaves the room. 

John sits up, immediately feeling lonely and wanting Sherlock back. But, that was...normal. He wasn’t little. 

“I’m not _small_.” John frowns as he folds his legs, though his words are garbled from behind the dummy. “And I don’t like _this_.” That feels like a lie. Still, he pulls the dummy out of his mouth by its ring and he leaves it on the duvet. He’s very naked, and very disgruntled. 

When Sherlock returns he drops the towel from his waist...then he thinks about how much he didn’t need it in the first place. They were alone, no need to hide their parts. 

“John, can you help me into my nappy?” Sherlock asks, taking his owl from the nappy bag and laying on his back. 

“Sure.” John stops being disgruntled to help the younger male. “I’m glad you remembered.”

“You would’ve too.”

“Not so soon.” John picks up the dummy on his way over to Sherlock, offering it and letting Sherlock latch on. “I would’ve remembered some time later.” He comments as he takes a nappy from the bag, also the tube of nappy cream. The rash looks better, but the cream should ensure that there’s a barrier between Sherlock’s bits and his wee, should he wet again during the night. Which, hopefully he won’t.

John slips the new nappy under Sherlock’s bum, then coats his bits in the nappy cream. Meanwhile, Sherlock is suckling his dummy, holding My close to his chest. 

“What time are we leaving here tomorrow?” John asks as he cleans the cream from his hands with a wipe. 

“Eh,” Sherlock shrugs. “I dunno. I didn’t tell anyone when to get us. I forgot you had work.”

“Did you want to stay more than one day? That would explain why they gave us so much food...” John tapes the nappy up and pats Sherlock’s thigh. “All done.”

“Um...I don’t know, to be honest. I didn’t know if you’d like the house or not, so I didn’t want to assume how long we’d stay.” Sherlock shrugs again. “I told them we’d be visiting the residence, they asked if we’d need food and I said ‘obvious’ so they stocked the kitchen up.”

“Ha, ‘obvious’.” John repeats, chuckling. “You’re so blunt.”

“You are as well.”

“Not like you, though.” John sits on the bed, next to Sherlock and again they eye each other. “So, do we sleep now?”

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know...”

“Be honest.”

“I really don’t know what I want to do.” John admits. “I don’t want to sleep, because I just want to enjoy being here with you, because who knows when we’ll come back.” John sighs. “I also was kind of hoping that we could...touch and be close and I could feel your skin and taste you-”

“Whoa.”

“But, _no sex_.” John shakes his head. “I don’t think I’m ready for that with you...and though I thought about it at dinner...I’m looking at you now and I just want to lay here with you and look at you. How lame am I?”

“If you want to lay here and look at me...I’d be fine with that.” Sherlock nods. “However, I _did_ get off earlier today back at the flat...you haven’t in a while. Yes, I’ve noticed.”

“You’ve...noticed that?”

“Yes, I know you usually get off daily,” Sherlock replies. “But, you haven’t since we’ve started little time. And, though I am impressed by your streak, I also know that it isn’t so good for you not to do so regularly.”

“Since you know that ‘doing so’ is better for your health, do you ‘do so’ regularly as well?”

“What? God, no.” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “It’s not something I enjoy. Just a time consuming ‘people’ thing.”

“You’re a ‘people’ too, as you keep failing to notice.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sherlock sighs. “Such a pity, too.”

“Sure.” John shakes his head at the horrendously oblivious detective.

“What I’m trying to say is... if you want me to... _help_ you, I could.” Sherlock’s face brushes a light pink. “Besides, I’ve already got my nappy on, so I’m pretty much N/A for the night.”

“...We could take it off.”

“No, it’s fine, John.” Sherlock takes his dummy out, setting it on his pillow. “I can help you.”

“Sherlock you _really_ don’t have to. I don’t need it.” John shakes his head. 

“But, do you want it?”

“I could do it myself.”

“Why are you afraid?” Sherlock frowns, but not one of anger, one of concern. 

“I feel guilty.” John admits.

“Why?”

“You won’t let me return the favor.” John’s face is rouge. “And...I really don’t need you to do this for me.”

“You made me feel good in the flat earlier, remember?”

“I didn’t... _do_ much. I just kissed you...and your chest.”

“That was plenty, and it felt good.” Sherlock tugs on John’s arm. “And, you’re already naked. Don’t pretend that I can’t see your interest.” The detective nods down to John’s clear beginnings of arousal.

“Oh, damn it.” John attempts to cover himself. “I forgot about that.”

“Don’t hide it.” Sherlock tries reaching for John’s arm, but the doctor pulls away briskly. 

“ _No_ , Sherlock.” John stands up and crosses the bedroom to their pile of clothes. He fishes his pants from the heap, and closes the bathroom door behind him. 

Sherlock is left stunned, and feeling guilty and alone on the bed. He draws his knees to his chest and waits for John to return. 


	63. Wonderfully Trapped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, whoa! I haven't seen most of you this year, yet!  
> How's the new year treating you? We're just over two weeks in...and I'm already ready for the *next* year. 
> 
> Anyway, have chapters 54-63...right? That's correct, yes? So, a big update! This update is nearly 18K words total :)  
> It's 4:30AM now, and I've just gotten done editing, or *trying* to anyway. 
> 
> SO, to answer questions I've been getting about when we'll see more consistently little Sherlock!  
> Here's the thing, Sherlock is having trouble staying little because he's having confusing feelings about John, and though those feelings haven't been resolved yet.
> 
> HOWEVER, there will be lots more littleness in the next few updates because:  
> 1) Mrs. Hudson is babysitting Sherlock and he'll stay little that entire time  
> 2) They'll be back in 221B, and that alone will make Sherlock feel like he's in a familiar place and he'll have more stability, most likely spend more time little because of that  
> 3) More Mycroft visits = more little Sherlock
> 
> Though, I must say that this story isn't just about Sherlock being little, it's also about he and John's relationship. Also, it's about something else that hasn't happened yet...but still! I'm sorry if the fact that Sherlock is in and out of little space is upsetting any of you! But, this is how my story is, and I enjoy writing this story the way it is :)
> 
> Thanks to all of you who's read/supported me along the way so far.  
> I hope to talk with you all again soon <3 :)
> 
> ~TJL <3

It’s a few minutes later when the bathroom door opens and John comes out, skin a bit flushed, and he’s less tense. He glances at Sherlock, who’s still sitting up, in a ball. The older male sighs as he crosses the room. 

“Sherlock, we need to talk.” John says as he approaches the bed, and the curled up detective. “Hello?”

Sherlock doesn’t say anything, he’s just staring off into space, but he has obvious teary eyes. 

“I’m not upset with you...I’m sorry...I panicked.” John admits as he sits down. 

The younger still remains silent.

“Talk to me, we have to talk about this.” John is avoiding Sherlock’s eyes, even though he knows the younger isn’t looking at him. “Please?”

“Why did you panic? I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Sherlock’s voice sounds strained...not to much like he might burst into tears, but that he’s weighed down with guilty. “I just wanted to help...I’m sorry.”

“No, no...” John wraps a single arm around Sherlock. “I _know_ that, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why’d you...leave.”

“Like I told you, I panicked.”

“Why?”

“It felt wrong, I didn’t feel right.” John shrugs. “A part of me just wasn’t ready.”

“Which part?”

“Something in my heart didn’t feel like I could give into that.” John tries to word it in a way that Sherlock could understand.

“Why?”

“I’m still kind of tipsy, and I don’t want a single drop of alcohol in my system...the first time we do anything intimate.” John explains. “Also, I could see your nappy and that made me scared a bit to...I felt like I could see my little boy, and I don’t want that see him at all when we do that.”

Sherlock is quiet as he contemplates what he’s heard. 

“You’re the one who put the nappy on me.” Sherlock frowns, John rolls his eyes. 

“I _honestly_ didn’t think you’d even be up to anything intimate tonight.” John says. 

“Why not?”

“You don’t give off normal people social cues.”

“The hell does that mean?”

“You didn’t give me a...‘look’ or anything.” John shrugs. “I don’t know...you were just _really_ neutral. Also, _you_ bloody asked _me_ to put the nappy on.”

“Well, Mr. ‘Social Cues’, you didn’t give me any hints towards intimacy either! I would have deduced it!”

“Stop deducing!”

“You deduced that I didn’t want any sexual things! You said that you couldn’t read my looks because I didn’t give any!” Sherlock retorts. “So _you_ stop deducing _me_!”

“I find you very attractive, and one day when we’re both ready, I’d like to be intimate with you!” John shouts back, and Sherlock opens his mouth to shout back..but then he takes in what John had just said. They both blink at each other, before bursting into laughter. 

“Well, alright.” Sherlock laughs again, clearing his throat. “One day when we’re ready.”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” John nods. 

“No alcohol, no nappies.” Sherlock confirms.

“Yes, please.” John sighs contently. “That sounds perfect.”

“I...look forward to it.” Sherlock tries to sound confident, well held together. But, he’s jittering inside with a blend of nervousness and eagerness. John is smiling now, and Sherlock is worried that John might be able to read just how much he wants closeness with John. Any kind of closeness, Sherlock wanted it.

“Until then, though...maybe we could just do some lovely cuddling and kissing?” John suggests. 

_Please, John. Hold me, I feel scared. I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable before. I just wanted to give you what I thought you wanted. That’s only because I want to give you everything and I feel so helpless when I can’t. I feel scared. Make me feel like I’m yours, make the fear go away._ Sherlock’s eyes flicker, focusing on different areas of John’s face as the thoughts run through his head. In the end, John speaking again breaks Sherlock away from his thoughts. 

“So, what do you say? Cuddles and kisses before bed?” John offers again when Sherlock doesn’t reply. 

The detective blinks a few times, settling back into the present. He gives a small smile, happy to accept such a lovely offer. “I’d like that.” Sherlock nods. 

“And, in the morning,” John says as he inches closer. “A lovely full breakfast for us both?"

Sherlock groans. “I don’t _like_ breakfast.”

“What if _you_ cooked it?”

“Then I _really_ wouldn’t like it.” Sherlock gives a breathy laugh. “But, is that what you’d like? Be honest.”

“Yes, please.”

“You want me to make breakfast?”

“Yes.”

“Ok.” Sherlock gives in and agrees to prepare their morning meal. “Want to leave here in the early afternoon?”

“Yeah, I have to work in the evening...so if we leave in the early afternoon, we’ll get home with a couple hours of downtime before I have to get ready to go.”

“Yup.” Sherlock confirms. 

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Indeed, it does, my John.” Sherlock grins, reaching over to ruffle John’s hair. “Do you suppose we’ll be hungover in the morning?”

“Wine does tend to give the worse hangovers...but, I don’t know about us.”

“I don’t want a hangover.”

“Who does?” John snorts. 

“Smart arse.” Sherlock lays down on his side, looking up at John. “I’m glad you’re not upset with me.”

“It’d be hard to get upset with you.”

“Liar.”

“I’ve gotten...angry with you before, yes.” John shrugs, then lays down on his side facing Sherlock. “But, not enough to last.”

“Hm.” Sherlock hums, leaning forward to bring his mouth to John’s. “Because, John...though you were apprehensive, you joined me on this trip.” Sherlock explains, and John giggles when he realizes what Sherlock is doing. The doctor is prepared for the next kiss that lands on his smiling lips. “Because, you played with me outside, that made me very extremely happy.” Sherlock this time, gives a sweep of his tongue against John’s bottom lip. The older is caught off guard by the sensation and he gives a soft noise. “That one was because you made a fucking fantastic dinner.” Sherlock curses, and it makes John laugh again. Sherlock likes making his John laugh. When Sherlock leans in again, John closes his eyes as their mouths meet. This kiss lingers, and John presses his lips back against Sherlock’s. When the detective pulls back, it takes John’s eyes a moment to open again. “Lastly, because you were right. We _needed_ to take that bath together. That was also amazing.”

John is smiling giddily at Sherlock. He brings his hand to Sherlock’s impressive jaw as he leans in to bring their mouths together again. The younger’s lips part immediately, his tongue moving forward to lick into John’s mouth. The doctor gives him access because _hell_ , he needs to taste Sherlock Holmes. 

Sherlock tastes like wine, sweet and intoxicating all at the same time. Their tongues rise and fall together like ocean waves and Sherlock worms himself closer to John. He wants to feel John’s skin, and there’s so much of it as both of them are only wearing (some form of) pants. 

The detective’s leg drapes over John’s thigh, leaving the doctor trapped in the best kind of way. John could spend forever trapped by Sherlock, and in a lot of wonderful ways, he already was. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BUT YOU GUYS, EXCITING UNIMPORTANT NEWS!  
> I had my mother watch series/season one of Sherlock with me! She fell asleep on the third episode, but she loved what she saw of the first two.  
> The first thing she says about him(Sherlock) (during episode one, when Sherlock has asked John to come to the flat, after John's first met Mycroft and Sherlock is doing the prayer hands on the sofa) is "He's so young! He looks like a little boy. It's like, you can tell that he never really grew up. He just found something he liked to do and stuck with it. He's such a child, look at him running around just doing as he likes!" 
> 
> I LITERALLY DIED. The first thing she says about him, is that he's like a child!?!?! It took everything in me not to shout "MOTHER, I KNOW! I WRITE ABOUT IT ALL THE TIME!" and yeah. That's all. I'm just really happy about it. Like, she has no idea just how bleeping much I agree with that statement.


	64. Stranger, Stranger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello!
> 
> My goodness, it's been a while. How are you all doing?  
> I hope you're all as well as can be. If not, I hope things get better, I honestly do.  
> I know what it's like when things are bad, trust me. *sigh* Life, am I right?
> 
> Ok! So, today's update chapters are 64-82  
> I know it sounds like a lot, but some of these are pretty short!  
> The entire update is nearly 16K words though, so it's still a pretty good size! <3
> 
> Happy reading!  
> ~TJL
> 
> PS: I missed every typo known to man, I'm sure I did. I will go back through to fix any that I can find. Forgive me <3

The doorbell rang a few times, Mrs. Hudson stopped what she was doing and moved quickly to answer it. She opened the black outside door and was met with a man, he was alone. Hands dug shyly into his pockets. With a friendly smile, he greets Mrs. Hudson. 

“Hello, how are you, ma’am?” The man’s voice is just a friendly as his grin. Mrs. Hudson feels almost as though she’s chatting with an old friend. The stranger’s genuinely kind vibe is palpable, almost like a gravitational pull. Mrs. Hudson felt automatically at ease, she almost wanted to invite him in for tea and a chat. 

“Hi, dear.” The woman replies. “I’m well, thanks. Are you looking for Sherlock or John? Or...might you be interested in a flat? I have one open, 221C. It’s a bit damp since it’s a basement room, but it’s-”

“No, no...not a flat.” The man flashes a pretty smile. “I _am_ however interested in speaking with Sherlock Holmes. Is he in?”

“Are you a client?” Mrs. Hudson wishes she’d brought a pen and paper out to the door, so she could have the man write his information on it. 

“I’d...like to be.” The stranger nods. He pulls a piece of gum from his pocket, slipping it into his mouth.

“Has there been a murder? Sherlock would like that.” Mrs. Hudson watches as the gentleman’s friendly eyes crinkled in the corners, he’s laughing now. 

“I’m sure he would,” The man nods. “He’d quite like that. But, _no_. No murders...I’m looking for someone, actually.”

“Oh...” Mrs. Hudson looks sympathetic. “A loved one?”

The man clenches his jaw, but only for a second. For just a moment, the friendliness vanishes from his face. But, it’s back before Mrs. Hudson can distinguish it as anything other than pain-stricken expression, of someone who’s worried about a missing person. 

“Yes, I love him very much.” The stranger presses his lips into a thin line. 

“A significant other?”

“No, no...” The man shakes his head, for the first time he looks away from Mrs. Hudson. He’s chewing his gum as he looks at the busy people, walking this way and that along the sidewalk. His eyes return to Mrs. Hudson once again, friendliness back on his face. “My son.”


	65. Snooze On, John

Sherlock had taken time just to watch John sleep. He liked seeing him in such a fragile, vulnerable state. The detective had always thought that sleeping in front of someone was such an intimate thing to do. To face someone while you slip into a state unconsciousness for several hours. What a strange thing that animals are, spending so many hours of their lives...not even living it. That’s why Sherlock hated to sleep, such a waste of time for such a minimal result. 

Though, he loved watching John do it, and...maybe that was odd as well. John looked so pretty when he slept. His small mouth twitching every once in a while, body doing the same. He turned towards Sherlock when he began dreaming, and the younger offered his body to John by moving closer to him. Should John want to cuddle, even in his sleeping state, his body would latch onto Sherlock’s. And, it did. John wormed toward the inviting heat of Sherlock’s form, fitting himself to the detective where he could, sighed contently and returned to his dreamful sleep. 

For the millionth time, Sherlock cursed the separations between his body and John’s, between his mind and John’s. If Sherlock could read John’s mind, he could see what John was dreaming. He could even read all of the feelings the John had for him. Though...he wasn’t sure if he had the choice, if he’d actually _want_ to read John’s feelings for him. What if...they were actually feelings that he couldn’t return?

Either way, it wasn’t really something he wanted to spend time thinking about right now. He wanted to start thinking of what he could make John for breakfast. He didn’t much like breakfast food himself, but he knew that John did. But, what could he make...? He didn’t just want to do standard eggs and toast, though that’s all he would probably manage to eat himself. 

Sherlock runs all of the things that he heard John talking about as far as breakfast foods. The detective remembers when John boasted about waffles one of his girlfriends had made. But, Sherlock knows there wouldn’t be a waffle maker here, also...he didn’t like the word ‘waffle’. Because it reminded him of a word one would use to describe someone when they are gassy. Example: John gets a bout of the waffles after eating spicy food. 

See?

However, maybe something sweeter would be nice for John. Sherlock knows John doesn’t like meat so much, fish sometimes...but he doesn’t really fancy bacon, sausage, ham or anything. Something like pancakes or crepes seems better. 

_Crepes_. Sherlock thinks, he remembers his Grandmama making delicious fruit filled crepes for him when he was younger. John would like that, and Sherlock wouldn’t _so much_ mind eating that himself. And, it’s a very delicately made food item, and maybe John would be impressed. Sherlock won’t tell him though how simple they are to make, he’ll just let John look on in wonderment as the detective places the plate in front of him. 

While John continued to snooze on, Sherlock wanted to pop into his mind palace. Just to have a chat with his Grandmama and make sure that the crepe making method was locked away before he began making them. 


	66. Her Paisley Apron

_Though most of the memories of Sherlock cooking with his grandmother, take place at Sherlock’s childhood home, he’s moved all of his Grandmama’s memories to the kitchen in her house. Because, Sherlock loved that kitchen more. He loved her house more. He liked to visit the memories there instead._

_Sherlock’s built his grandmother’s house as an added wing to his mind palace. He doesn’t visit the wing too often, though he thinks he should._

_“Grandmama?” Sherlock enters the house through the white wooden door, admiring the coloured light that streams through the stained-glass window on the door itself. He used to find the rainbow-light from the stained-glass so magical when he was just a boy._

_As usual, the older woman was in the kitchen, apron dusted with flour. She looks up when Sherlock enters the room, and a smile passes over her wrinkled face._

_“Sherlock Holmes, where have you been?” She asks, wiping her hands on her apron as he approaches. “It’s been ages, far too long. Shame on you, Dove.” She pets his cheek before kissing it, and wrapping her arms around him. He’d nearly forgotten how she used to refer to him as ‘Dove’._

_“I’m sorry.” Sherlock hugs her in return, breathing in her gentle scent of cinnamon and honey. It was all so familiar, all so real. “I’ve been so busy.”_

_“Doing what?” She motions to the barstools at the kitchen counter, inviting him to sit._

_“Detective work.” Sherlock reminds her, he’s told her before. Though, even in his mind palace...he can’t seem to help her to remember things. Much like the woman really was in her older age._

_“My word, detective work? Do be careful, Dove.” She shakes her head. “Messing about with criminal activity can be so dangerous. Why don’t you become a chef? You’ve always loved to cook with me.”_

_“I actually did come to speak with you about cooking.” Sherlock disregards her concern for his detective work. It’s not like she’ll remember._

_“You did? What about it?” She smiles as she takes a wet rag and begins wiping down her counter._

_“I want to prepare crepes for someone, might you still have the recipe?”_

_“For...someone?” The woman repeats, turning away towards her recipe box, bringing the small recycled coffee tin over to Sherlock._

_“I’ve always wanted to help you organize those recipes better.” Sherlock’s brow creases as he watches her fish through the tin._

_“It’s not too late to help your dear old Nan, you know.” She smiles up at him._

_“It is.” Sherlock declares. “I wish it wasn’t. I wish I could really visit you, I wish I did more often before you passed away. I wish you could meet John. I wish you could hear me play the violin again, you were the one who bought me my first one...when I refused to play the piano, like Mycroft. You were the only one who understood me growing up. You believed that I was smart, you never put me down. You never made me feel like my desires or wants were naive, or unwise. You supported my differences and I miss you terribly and-” Sherlock is cut off by the feeling of a thin, frail hand to his face. It’s a gentle caress, a loving gesture._

_“Sherlock Holmes, my sweet little Dove...” The older woman’s blue eyes glisten slightly with tears. “I’ve not gone anywhere, and you can always visit me.”_

_Sherlock only shakes his head, shuddering an inhaled breath and shakily releasing it. He takes his large pale hand, holding it over hers to his face. He doesn’t say anything though, tears forming in his own eyes._

_“Who’s John?” The woman asks._

_“What?” Sherlock blinks a few times._

_“Who is...John? You said that you wished I could meet...John?”_

****_“Oh...he is my friend.”_

_“Friend?” For some reason, her tone implied that she didn’t believe him._

_“Yes...friend.” Sherlock’s brow knits slightly. “Are you surprised that I have a friend?”_

_“No, no...you’ve always been so likable, to the few people you allow to get to know you.”_

_“Then...why the questioning tone?”_

_“Why does telling me about your friend make you nervous?”_

_“Huh?”_

_“You’re blushing, Dove.” His grandmother sighs contently as she finally finds the crepe recipe. “Here you are, dear.” The older woman hands him the recipe, pushing a section of silver hair from her forehead._

_Sherlock brings a hand to his own face, feeling the blushed heat there._

_“I am blushing, but why?” He mumbles to himself. “Am I embarrassed to call John my friend? That’s what he is, isn’t he?”_

_“What are you saying, love?” Grandmama Holmes asks from across the kitchen, where she’s gently cleaning an empty dish._

_“Nothing.” Sherlock glances over the recipe, taking a mental note of the few steps that it would take to prepare John’s breakfast, and the ingredients he’d need._

_Good, so he does remember then. With that, he readies himself to leave this familiar place, not knowing when he’d return. He imagines John sitting on the barstool beside him, the two of them laughing and talking with Grandmama._

_Sherlock imagines bringing mind palace John here...would that work?_

_“You’re leaving.” Grandmama looks sad as she removes her paisley apron, hanging it on its hook._

_“I’ve got to go, yes.” Sherlock rises from the barstool. “I’m going to make breakfast for John.”_

_“Ah, so you’re cooking for him?” Grandmama comes from around the counter, embracing Sherlock again. The two of them hug._

_“Yes, for him.” Sherlock nods, then lets the old woman go. “I’ve missed you for so many years now...sometimes I forget how much.”_

_“Silly, to miss someone who isn’t gone.” She chuckles a bit sadly, petting his cheek softly. “I miss you, too...my Dove.”_

_Her gentle, familiar voice almost brings tears to Sherlock’s eyes again. He breathes the tearful feeling away with a shaky deep breath._

_“I love you, dear.” His grandmother keeps her hand on his face, and Sherlock leans into the touch._

_“You too.” He says, as the walls began coming away. Grandmama fades away with them. Reality settles in almost too soon._


	67. In His Head

Sherlock sits up, looking around the spacious master bedroom of the stone house. His vision is blurry, his eyes are wet. He’d been emotional in his mind palace, though the tears have escaped from his actual eyes. He wipes them away with the back of his hand. The curly haired man almost wants to wake John, so he can be held and feel free to cry...while big or little. He wants John to wake up, so he can spew every detail about his visit with his grandmother. But...it took place in his mind palace, and he doesn’t know if John would find that odd. That...Sherlock visits his dead relatives in his head. Maybe John’s question about whether or not they were insane was more valid than they’d thought. 

The detective sniffles wiping at his eyes again, taking a deep breath as he swings himself out of bed. He works on bottling up the emotions that are bubbling at his surface while he shifts through the luggage bag he’d had sent to the stone house. He finds his dressing gown, the lovely blue one. Of course, he’s annoyed that it’s been folded and now is wrinkled. He’d requested it to be brought on a hanger to keep it neat. But, it would be wrinkled after he’d finished wearing it anyway, so he ignores the few wrinkles it has already. 

He hears John stir slightly, and Sherlock stills his movements. When he senses that John’s back to sleeping fully, Sherlock finishes wrapping himself in the dressing gown. The detective can feel slight protest in his bladder, and he knows he needs to empty it. But, he doesn’t want to wet and have to ask to be changed. Nor does he want to use the toilet. His mind is on the mission to get John’s breakfast started finally. So, he ignores his body’s needs and moves silently out of the bedroom, heading down to the kitchen.


	68. “Mrs. Hudson, good morning.”

The sound of John’s mobile ringing woke him. He grumbled at first in attempt to ignore the sound. But, the persistent noise finally won their small battle. The doctor reached a hand from under the covers to check the caller ID. 

“Oh,” John utters as he clicks the answer button. “Mrs. Hudson, good morning.” 

“John, hi!” The woman exclaims. "I just got done chatting with nicest young man, a potential client of yours”

“Potential client?” He repeats, rubbing his eyes. John turns and realizes that Sherlock is out of bed. Next, he realizes that the scent of good cooking is coming from downstairs. John’s stomach growls hungrily at this. “Did you get his contact information? We’ll be back in town in a few hours.”

“I did ask if he’d like to leave a number that you two boys could reach him at, but he said he’d just come back to the flat at a later date.”

“Hm, that’s strange.” John hums. “But, that’s just fine. Thanks for handling that while we’re away.”

“No problem,” Mrs. Hudson smiles. “Like I said, I had a grand time talking with him. We chatted for quite some time.”

“Did you guys talk about what he might need Sherlock and I to help him with?”

“Oh...” She suddenly sounds saddened. “Yes, we did.”

“What is it?”

“His son is missing.”

John clicks his tongue. “We...can’t just wait until he shows up again to start working on this case. That’s _urgent_.”

“I know, that’s what I told him.” 

“Has he tried the police?” John climbs out of bed. “Why didn’t he leave any contact information? My god.”

“He said he’d -- and -- from the --” Mrs. Hudson’s voice goes in and out as the signal goes bad. 

“Hello? Mrs. Hudson?” John takes the phone from his ear and looks at the service bars. He had a good connection, he wasn’t sure why the call was breaking up. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but Sherlock and I will be back in town soon! Have a lovely hair appointment, we’ll see you later.” He hangs up, sighs.

The sounds of dishes being moved about comes from downstairs, reminding John that there’s a delicious homemade breakfast waiting for him.


	69. Attached-John

John followed the scent of fresh fruit and sugar. Though his head hurt slightly, either just because, or from the night of drinking wine...the sweet scent was quite welcomed. He was incredibly hungry for whatever the smell was coming from. 

When he finally reached the kitchen, he saw Sherlock standing in front of the stove. God, he looked pretty like that. His expert hands doing the task fluidly, eyes just as expertly focused. But, he broke that focus to look at John. Quickly deducing the doctor’s current state. 

_Alert, well rested. He’s swallowing, producing excess saliva: his mouth is watering, he’s hungry. Good, interested in the meal I’ve prepared. More than interested, he_ **_wants_ ** _this. Hair is mussed from sleep, but fixed into place: he’s finger combed it in an attempt to look presentable. Why would that matter? We’re going nowhere yet, and there’s nobody here but me. Who’s he trying to impress? He hasn’t brushed his teeth or washed his face, neither have I. We’re disgusting, he’s perfect._

Sherlock’s eyes moved from John’s face and down the rest of the doctor’s body. 

_That’s my tshirt, he’s grabbed it from the floor in a hurry. Still wearing only his pants over his bottom half. Casual, relaxed. That still makes me wonder why he even bothered trying to neaten himself up. Why would he try to look...nice? Who is there to impress? Silly John._

Those deductions take only a few seconds to gather and when he’s done, the detective meets John’s eyes, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. 

“Good morning, John.” Sherlock greets John, watching as the older came over to him.

“Morning, Sherlock.” John replies, coming over to the stove to kiss the man’s cheek. “What’ve you made?” John points to the sauce pan, where some kind of syrup seemed to be concocted. 

“Have a seat, I’ll serve you shortly.” Is Sherlock’s response. 

“I’m to be served? Fancy.” John doesn’t protest however, promptly crosses the kitchen to sit at the table. “What’s on the menu?”

“Hush.” Sherlock says without looking up from the nectar he’s constantly stirring, in order to prevent it from burning. “I analyzed your breathing before I left, it lead me to believe you were in a certain stage of sleep. I hadn’t thought you’d be awake so soon. I wanted to be finished before you came down.”

“I think the delicious smells woke me up.”

“No, something else did.” Sherlock eyes him. “A more jolting stimulus, your mobile, perhaps?

“Smart lad, as always.” John nods. “Mrs. Hudson called, about a client.”

“Client...hm,” Sherlock hums at news. “Does that mean...we have to get right to it when we return?” It’s clear that he’s trying not to sound upset about it.

“Well, no...it depends on when he comes back to our flat.”

“Huh?”

“Mrs. H said that the man didn’t leave any contact information...which is strange, because his matters sounds urgent. Like he’d want help right away.” John shrugs. “But the man stayed to have a thorough chat with Mrs. Hudson about other things, and then left.”

“Stayed for a chat?”

“I dunno, she probably invited him in for tea or something.”

“What was his urgent matter?” Sherlock pours the crepe batter into the heated skillet, after turning the sauce pan on low to keep the nectar warm. The syrup shouldn’t burn now. 

“His _son_ is missing.”

Sherlock freezes for a second, eyes staring into space. John watches Sherlock’s expression change from zoned out to angry. 

“Hey,” John knits his brow. “Are you ok?”

“He’s missing his _child_!” Sherlock’s voice is risen and he puts the bowl of batter down forcefully. “He’s not doing a bloody thing about it? Why isn’t he worried? Why isn’t the man going to the ends of the Earth to find him? Why doesn’t he _care_ , John??”

“Whoa, hey...” John holds up a hand. “No one said he wasn’t worried, and he probably does care. In fact he absolutely does, because he came to the world’s only consulting detective for help.”

“He didn’t leave behind any contact information, John! He’s in no hurry!”

“Why are you _shouting_?”

“Daddies are supposed t-to care, right?” Sherlock’s voice wavers a bit.

_Oh, I get it._ John thinks. Sherlock is reflecting this onto himself. He’s worried that the father’s lack of care might be an example of how John would react to losing him. 

“Why doesn’t....” Sherlock’s voice is still wavered. “Why doesn’t he care, John?”

“Hey,” John gets up from his seat, moving across the kitchen to Sherlock. “He does care.”

“Not enough.”

“Well, we don’t know all the details.” John wraps his arms around Sherlock from behind. “Remember? A conclusion without facts is only an assumption.” 

“Well...yes, but-”

“If it were my son, and he was missing...I wouldn’t even be able to rest.”

Sherlock gives a small sniffle, but he isn’t crying. He doesn’t really seem near tears at all. The small sniffle is so cute, and something so little for him to have done while he’s big. Is he still big?

“Are you alright?” John rubs Sherlock’s stomach through his dressing gown, since he’s still standing behind him, this is the area closest to his hands. 

“Yes...yes...I’m -- would you really not be able to rest?” Sherlock still sounds big, and he’s gone back to his cooking. He takes the thin crepe from the pan, putting it on to one of the beautiful plates that have been provided to them via the stone house. 

“Not at all...” John holds Sherlock tighter. “The few times that I’ve woken up and you’re gone from the bed...were so scary to me. I almost had a legit panic attack the day that I found you down in Mrs. Hudson’s. I even called Mycroft.”

“You _what_?” Sherlock hadn’t know that. “You called my brother?”

“I...well, yes.” John is blushing, glad Sherlock can’t see it. “I couldn’t find you _anywhere_ in our flat. And, you’d left your mobile and coat behind, so I knew that something was off. You never leave those if you’re going out.” He explains. “And, I didn’t want to go to Lestrade...he’d ask why I was freaking out just because you’d left the flat. I couldn’t tell him ‘oh, it’s because Sherlock is my son sometimes and he might be lost without his Daddy’ or something.”

Sherlock chuckles in this. “I suppose you couldn’t have told Lestrade that...”

“Exactly, you pleb.” John rests his cheek to Sherlock slender back. “I like being close to you...and I’m glad you’re not lost.”

“I’m glad you’re here.” Sherlock pats John’s hand with his own. “I’ve got to go to the fridge. Want to walk with me as my ‘attached-John’, like when I was latched onto you?”

“We seem to latch onto each other in the kitchen.” John says, nodding and holding Sherlock’s middle tighter as the detective begins walking. As Sherlock walks, John has to take several small steps to keep up with Sherlock longer strides. 

“Not easy, is it?” Sherlock gives a slight laugh as he opens the fridge, taking out what he needs and walking back over the counter. 

“Not at all.” John laughs with him as he stumbles behind him. “You did a much better job of holding on before.”

“I’m more so dragging you behind me.” Sherlock glances over his shoulder. “Are your feet coming up off the floor?”

“A bit.”

“You’re so tiny.” 

“I know.”


	70. Go Marry Someone

Sherlock’s light eyes stayed glued on John’s face as he took the first bite of the crepe. The detective tried to deduce every single one of John’s facial movements. 

“Is it too sweet? Not sweet enough?” Sherlock spills the words from his mouth quickly. 

“Sherlock-”

“Too much fruit? Too little fruit?”

“Sh-”

“What about the topping? Too thick?”

“Oi!” John raises his voice. “Jesus, Sherlock.”

“What?” The younger tilts his head to the side. “What is it?”

“I’m trying to tell you that,” John swallows the food in his mouth. “It’s great. I love it.”

“Really? You’re not lying? Don’t lie to me, John.” Sherlock frowns. 

“No, I meant it.” John points to the plate. “It’s the perfect amount of sweet, and it’s not a heavy food. I could eat this all day.”

Sherlock blinks a few times before responding. 

“So...in fact...” Sherlock’s lack of words pleases John. 

“Yes?” John arches a brow. 

“You’re...enjoying my cooking?” The younger’s face starts to redden, just a bit. 

“Yes, of course.” John nods. “You’re a fine chef, as you’d said.”

“Th-thank you, John.” 

“Mmm,” John says after taking another bite. “The creme in the middle...the fruit, and the topping....it’s even pretty to look at. I felt bad disturbing the beauty of the plate at first, by eating it. But, now I can’t stop.”

“I have batter left over, I could make you another.” Sherlock offers. 

“Offering to _cook_!” John chuckles. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Oh, shut up.” Sherlock laughs as well. 

“So, you remembered this recipe, yeah?” John picks up his glass of water. 

“I...went into my mind palace to get it.” Sherlock nods. “But, yes...I remembered it.”

“This something your grandmother taught you?”

“Yes...” Sherlock looks away from John, he’s debating whether or not to share with him...about the visit he had with Grandmama. 

“You ok?” John sees the suddenly distant look on Sherlock’s face. 

“Yes.” Sherlock nods, picking up his own fork in order to begin eating his own crepe. 

“You know....you could tell me, if...” John pauses. “If you _weren’t_ ok, you could tell me.”

“Noted.” Sherlock reply is quick, but not off putting. John just accepts the detective’s short answers as they are. 

The silence that consumed them next wasn’t...awkward. Though sort of tense. They didn’t make eye contact, and ate in silence. John spoke up first. 

“So,” John finally looks up at Sherlock. 

“Hm?”

“Can’t believe we have to leave this place so soon.” John sighs, looking around the expansive kitchen. Their flat’s kitchen was so much smaller, cluttered with equipment for Sherlock’s experiments, and the experiments themselves. 

“We’ll be coming back again.” Sherlock assures John, however his voice is very ‘professional’ like a doctor telling their patient that their ailment won’t kill them. 

“I know, but...this _house_.” John continues to look about it. “Remind me why I should want to go back to Baker Street?”

“I could give you a few ideas,” Sherlock says.

“Ok, give me your first one.” John replies, grinning in anticipation. 

“First good thing about going back to 221B,” Sherlock began. “Is...I miss my skull.”

John chuckles at this. “You miss the skull?” It was so random, and John didn’t even _imagine_ that being something Sherlock might say.

“Yes, John.” Sherlock points a scolding finger at him, though he was only pretending to be upset. “Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not laughing _at_ you,” John assures him. “I just think it’s funny.”

“Isn’t that laughing at me?” Sherlock retorts, scolding finger still aimed at John. “ _Rude_.”

“Sorry, sorry.” John rolls his eyes teasingly. “I guess you just miss having more than one empty head in the room.”

“Hey...” Sherlock frowns, trying to gather whether or not that was supposed to be an insult. “Hush, John.”

“Make me.” John taunts, a smirk on his face. 

“I will, don’t taunt.” Sherlock warns. “I’ll kiss you until you shut up.”

John glances at Sherlock, the older male is blushing. When they meet eyes, Sherlock laughs. 

“I’m just teasing, John.” Sherlock looks up at the ceiling again, arms behind his head. “Second pro,”

“Yeah?”

“Mycroft will come visit and bring me things.” The detective grins. “Marvelous things. Like, maybe more footed sleepers. A diamond encrusted dummy-”

“You’ve got to be joking.” John shakes his head at the man. “A diamond encrusted dummy? That you’d _lose_ in five minutes.”

“I was kidding.” Sherlock smiles. “But, more dummies would be nice. Since I have to share them with you now anyway.”

“Huh?” John doesn’t understand what Sherlock means at first, but...suddenly, he remembers Sherlock putting the dummy in his mouth last night. It had felt...kind of nice. 

John didn’t want to think about it too much, so he changed the subject to Sherlock again. 

“So, you’re looking forward to your brother paying a visit? _That_ is unheard of.” John pokes fun, and Sherlock crinkles his nose. 

“I just want him to bring me stuff, and play with me.” Sherlock frowns still. “I’m not looking forward to him visiting...”

“You’re looking forward to spending time with him, just not the visiting part?” John repeats Sherlock’s statement in simpler terms, hoping to get Sherlock to see how ridiculous he was sounding. But, Sherlock only nodded enthusiastically at what John says. 

“Yes, that! That _exactly_!” Sherlock grins a special kind of smile that says ‘John! You’ve finally caught up to my massive intellect!’ and John only laughs at the expression. 

“I was _trying_ to say that you sound contradictory, but it went over your silly head.”

“What?” Sherlock asks but then it hits him. “Oh, _do_ shut up, John. You’re just trying to make me admit that I have emotions again.”

“Because you _do_.” 

“Well, the only thing I feel now is annoyed that I even brought up Mycroft.” Sherlock folds his arms. “I’m _not_ looking forward to his visit, just what he has to offer.”

“Sure, dear.” John pats his arm. “Ok, give me the third pro.”

“Mrs. Hudson will give us biscuits.”

“Oooh, you’re right about that one.” John nods. 

“Hm, no smart arse comments from you, Johnny?” Sherlock raises a pretty brow. “ _Goodness_!”

“Piss off, Sherlock.” John laughs a lazy chuckle, digging his fork into his crepe, sighing contently as he chews. “Another pro?”

“Hmmm,” Sherlock hums as he thinks. “I do miss my violin, there’s a melody that keeps playing in my head, I think I’d like to compose a bit.”

“Compose?” John repeats. “You don’t do that very often.”

“I don’t, no.” Sherlock shakes his curly head. “But...it’s constantly playing and I want it _out_.”

“What melody is it?”

“Hm?”

“Can you...I dunno, sing it?” John asks, Sherlock cheeks flush slightly. 

Sherlock sits up a bit taller and presses his lips into a thin line for a moment. 

“Dr. John Watson, when have you ever heard me sing?” Sherlock arches a brow. 

“Well, never...” John laughs nervously. “Is that a bad thing to ask you to do? Will you deafen me with your baritone crooning?”

Sherlock rolls his eyes, folds his arms. “I’m just...I’m not good at admitting that I’m embarrassed.”

“You’re embarrassed?” John’s eyebrows knit. “Sherlock, I told you that I won’t judge you for anything you do. And, honestly...I can’t sing myself, so...you know.”

“Can I hum it instead of sing it?” Sherlock inquires, and John chuckles. 

“Of course, silly.”

Sherlock clears his throat, face going a deeper red than before. However, what happens next is so...peaceful. 

John’s motions stop all together, when he hears the thick, deep voice of Sherlock’s, humming out a gentle tune. It’s only a few notes, but they come so velvety from the younger man. It sounds rich and soft, sweet like chocolate. 

Sherlock repeats the melody a few times, as if he’s trying to taste the music himself. When the humming stops, he brings his light eyes up to John, surprised to see the doctor frozen. 

“Not...good?” Sherlock asks, voice still soft. 

“You sound so, so pretty.” John says before he can stop himself. “I always thought you had a lovely voice...but, musically...I never thought of your voice in a musical way.” He shifts his weight a bit. “Your vocal chords are just as lovely an instrument as your violin.”

Sherlock blush seems to be permanent now, he takes his glass of water in his large hand, taking a large gulp. He grimaces after, as if he’d taken a drink of strong alcohol. 

“John, you shouldn’t say such things.” Sherlock scolds, avoiding his eyes. 

“Well, too bad. I mean it.” John smiles gently. “It was lovely hearing you hum it. But, I can’t wait to hear it on your violin.” John says, then goes back to finish up his breakfast. 

“Thank you, John.” Sherlock says after a few moments. The doctor looks up from his plate, the two of them meet eyes. 

They only exchange smile, before John speaks again. “This is _really_ good, we should open a restaurant.”

“Maybe when we retire, we could have a lovely home, such as this one.” Sherlock begins. “And we could open up our kitchen into a restaurant, for certain days, and at certain hours. One day we serve breakfast from mid morning to noon, one day we serve lunch from whenever to whenever. Dinner on one day.”

“I’d have to commute to work those days, then?” John says quickly, he’s testing Sherlock. As John guessed, Sherlock was thrown off by what John had said. 

“Commute? What?” Sherlock asks. “No, John. I said ‘our kitchen’ why would you have to commute?”

“What if I’d gotten married to someone? Granted, my children would be all off on their own by now.” John shrugs. “Still, unless I just so happened to live across the street, I’d have to commute to your home to run the restaurant in.”

“John-”

“Or we could do it from my house, but...you’re probably going to inherit billions of pounds...so your house will no doubt be more suited for that kind of thing.” 

“John, what are you going on about?” Sherlock is frowning. “Why wouldn’t you live with me...why would you, um...go marry someone? Why?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Sherlock’s expression softens, but...it changes from a frown, to an inward emotion. Like he’s thinking something lesser of himself, and John regrets messing with him like that. 

“Hey, I was only joking.” John reaches across the table, offer Sherlock his hand. 

“What?”

“I wanted to see what you would say.”

“Why?”

“Well, I wanted to see if...you’d like to be with me when we’re old, which I’m already on my way to being, mind you.” John chuckles bittersweetly, and is relieved when Sherlock takes his hand. 

“John, I’d like to be with you always.” Sherlock squeezes his hand. “Don’t run off and marry someone.”

John notices that Sherlock says ‘marry someone’ but not ‘marry someone _else_ ’, that means Sherlock thinks marrying someone at all is a ridiculous idea. So, Sherlock must relate marriage to romance and of course, he thinks romance is bollocks. To conclude, Sherlock is once again an idiot and John really shouldn't be surprised this time. 

The doctor sighs, squeezing Sherlock’s hand back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do we proof read?  
> Everyone say it with me: "So you won't like like an arsehole when you accidentally switch the setting in the middle of a scene." 
> 
> Yes, thank you. 
> 
> So, I'm proof reading now. And I accidentally left a bit of setting from the original draft in the final draft. Ignore me, I'm trash. I can't edit to save my life. Why do I even write? XD


	71. Sillies & Syllables

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: 
> 
> Sherlock is extremely silly  
> Also, they mention sex, nothing graphic.

After their breakfast, they clean up the kitchen together. Sherlock keeps reminding John that he wants to bring their leftovers from dinner with them back to Baker Street. He also keeps insisting that John make it for dinner every night. John only says that, if Sherlock expects him to make it so frequently, that the detective shouldn’t leave the kitchen in a state of chaos so often. He also reminds Sherlock that cooking a thorough dish as that one requires love and energy and after long cases, it might be hard to do. But, he does promise to make it as often as he can. 

Sherlock then tell John that the dish is now his new favourite food, and that he hadn’t had a favourite food before. John blushes, and they kiss. 

Once the kitchen was clean, John heads into the living room, looking through the large open windows. The green fields are still shining with dew though the morning sun is bright, and will dry it up in no time. The view is absolutely stunning, and John feels so content. 

“Our flat is going to feel so small.” John says, surprised when he feels long arms wrapping around him from behind, a chin resting atop his head. 

“Hm,” Sherlock only hums, his breath catches in his throat as he remembers something. 

“You alright?” John asks, wanting to look up at Sherlock, but his head is still tucked under Sherlock’s chin. 

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course, Sherlock. You know that.” John overlaps Sherlock’s arms with his own around his waist. 

“It’s just...random. I don’t know if-”

“Tell me.”

“Well, last night...I’m really glad that we didn’t have sex.” Sherlock informs him, and John only blinks. 

“Oh...ok, then.” John isn’t sure what to say. “Is that...because...you would’ve regretted it?”

“No, no...nothing like that.” Sherlock shakes his head. “It’s just...not only because we were in fact drunk, but also...it would be so much better, if it happened in our flat.”

“I was thinking that, too.”

“Were you really?”

“Yeah,” John nods. “It would feel so much more natural there.”

“And, I want us to smell like 221B, and each other.” Sherlock adds. “Is that weird?”

“No, absolutely not weird.” John says. “Our flat smells so familiar and-”

“Not like Mycroft’s house.”

“Oh my god, we almost had sex in Mycroft’s bed.” John chuckles. “That’s amazing.”

“Well, _one_ of his beds.” Sherlock shrugs. 

“Still...that’s great.” John is laughing still, Sherlock has joined him. 

“Do you think he’d burn the bed afterwards?”

“No, the ghost of our sex would still be there, haunting him forever.”

“Sex ghost, John?”

“Stranger things have happened.”

“Hm...no.”

John turns around in Sherlock’s arms, pressing his face into Sherlock’s chest. His groan is muffled. “I still can’t believe we’re leaving this house.”

“You mean, you can’t ‘be- _leave_ ’ it, Johnny?” Sherlock snickers, and John gives a loud ‘HA!’ at the detective’s pun. 

“Since _when_ do you make puns?”

“I...don’t know...it just sort of happened before I could stop it.”

“Well, I can’t ‘ _bee_ -lieve’ that it did.”

“You what?”

“You know...like what you did, only with bees...because you like bees.” 

“No...that’s irrelevant.” Sherlock frowns. “You were concerned about leaving, so mine works, we weren’t talking about bees.”

“Yeah, but it still makes sense.”

“No it doesn’t.” Sherlock takes a step away from John. “Shame on you, John.”

“You can’t tell me how to pun!”

“I can if you’re damn doing it wrong.” The detective folds his arms. 

“Oh and now the _arms_ , Sherlock?” John folds his as well out of spite.

“What about my arms?”

“You’re folding them like you’re about to sass me.”

“I don’t _sass_ , John.”

“Do too!” John points at him. “You _so_ do!”

“Do not!” Sherlock insists. “Tell me one time that I’ve ever sassed!”

“Hold on...” John runs over to Sherlock’s computer.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sherlock follows him, peering over John’s shoulder. He watched as the doctor went to Google. “Are you gonna put in ‘Sherlock sassing’?”

“No,” John types in ‘define sass’ and watches as the definition comes up. “Read that out loud.”

Sherlock squints as he reads: 

> _Verb_ ; **sass**
> 
> ****be cheeky or rude to (someone)

“Oh, for f-” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “I _know_ what it means, but...isn’t that term used more commonly for someone who’s...you know.”

“Who’s what?” John grins smugly because he was right, though Sherlock isn’t admitting it. He looks up at the detective. 

“You know, someone who is more...of a diva.”

“A _diva_ , Sherlock?”

“Well, yes. For example, someone who’s sassy usually wears red and sways their hips when they walk.” Sherlock says. “Their personalities are far more feline.”

“Care to demonstrate walking with your hips swaying?” John folds his arms again. 

“Piss off, John.” Sherlock sighs. “I wish your name was longer.”

“What?”

“It’s hard to scold with the name ‘John’ it needs more syllables.” He explains. “If it were ‘Jonathan’ I could really put the emphasis on the last syllable and mess you up.”

“ _Mess me up_!” John repeats, his voice squeaky with laughter. “Who are you, and what have you done with Sherlock? Because, Sherlock Holmes was never this funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny!”

“I know, that’s why I want to know what you’ve done with my Sherlock.” John grins up at the detective, who’s own smile has faded. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Sherlock replies, leaning lower to kiss John upside down. Their mouths meet softly. “I’m just really pleased with you.”

“ _Pleased with me_ ,” John echos. “Why not smile about it, then?”

“It’s just a heavy thing to realize, I suppose.”

“Realize?”

“Stop repeating everything I say.” Sherlock looks down at him. “Goodness, John.”

“I just...don’t understand.” John is being serious. “What have you just realized?”

“Oh...it’s not about how I love you, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Hm, I was hoping...but I figured that it wasn’t about that.” John shrugs. “But, what was it?”

“You’re...right.”

“About?” John arches a tawny brow. 

“I’m not as I was before.” Sherlock declares. “I am different than I once was.”

“Well, that’s true about both of us...yeah?”

“Yes, but....I’m so much more open with you, John.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I knew I’d be open with you. But I didn’t think I’d change.” Sherlock sounds worried. “It’s not a bad change, right?”

“Not, you’re still Sherlock Holmes.” John stands up. “You’re just sillier.”

“I can’t afford to be _silly_.” Sherlock spat the word like it was the most foul of words ever spoken. “You’re rubbing off on me, John.”

“Good, you could use some John, it suits you.” 

“Heaven knows that’s true.” Sherlock smirks, and brings John once again into his arms.


	72. “Where only you and I exist.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was sooo much fun to write, seriously.  
> I haven't giggled this much while writing something in a long time.

Sherlock was laying on his back, looking up at John, the older male looking down at him. The detective was little now, and John was changing his wet nappy. The little boy was smiling, and John could barely take his eyes off of him. 

“I...” John says, pulling the tabs of the nappy. 

“Love.” Sherlock says, eyes still on John. 

“You.” John finishes, leaning down to kiss Sherlock’s nose. 

“Again?” Sherlock asks. 

“You want more kisses?”

“No, Dada.” Sherlock shakes his head as John opens his nappy. “Say ‘love you’.”

“Oh, ok.” John nods. “Do you want me to start?”

“Dada start.”

“Alright, ready?” John looks up as he opens the packet of wipes. 

“Yes.”

“I...” John smiles at his boy. 

“Love!” Sherlock says excitedly this time, and John chuckles. 

“You, Sherlock.” John is still grinning, teeth showing. “I really do.”

“Love you, Dada.” Sherlock inserts his thumb into his mouth and looks away. He can feel John cleaning his bits, he’s used to the feeling. He stays still for John to do the job. “Dada?”

“Yes?”

“We go home, soon?” Sherlock asks, words garbled around his thumb. 

“Yeah, back to 221B.”

“Home?”

“Yes, that’s home.” 

“Yes.” Sherlock nods, raises his legs to his chest so John can clean his bum. 

“When we get home, we’re gonna hang out for a bit, just me and you.”

“Sherlock and Dada.”

“Exactly, bug.” John says, taking the wet nappy and setting it aside. Next, Sherlock's Daddy grabs the clean nappy and he puts it under Sherlock’s bottom. “Then, Dada has to go to work for a bit, and you get to stay with Nana Hud.” 

“With Nana?”

“Yup, and she’s probably gonna give you biscuits.” 

“Yay!”

“Uh-huh,” John examines Sherlock’s skin around his nappy area. The rash is basically gone, and John’s relieved to see that. He still puts on nappy cream however, as a precaution. “Then Dada comes home.”

“And, we do kisses?”

“I’m gonna kiss my bug all night.” John tapes the new nappy shut, then leans down to kiss the baby’s tummy. Sherlock squeals with laughter and puts his hands in John’s hair, in attempt to stop him from tickling his tummy. 

“Dada! No, tickles!” 

“You said ‘no pickles’?” John asks as he continues to pepper the boy’s tummy with kisses. “I don’t have any pickles, you silly little baby.”

“No!” Sherlock is giggling wildly. “I said ‘tickles’, Dada!”

“No _what_?” John asks. “I can’t hear you! You’re giggling too much.”

“That’s it.” Sherlock pushes John away with some force, his little voice grumbling. 

John worries that he’s upset Sherlock, and he’s about to say ‘sorry’ when the boy pushes him onto his side. 

“Hey, whoa...what are you-” John’s cut off by slender, nimble fingers pressing into his side. His body betrays him by forcing out a giggle of his own. Sherlock was _tickling him_ now. It’s been years since anyone...tickled him. It wasn’t something that happened really. People don’t go around tickling army men, and none of his previous relationships had been with ticklers...that’s a strange way to put it. But, he can only remember Harry tickling him when they were kids. Maybe one of his friends did it too when he was young. But, it just...wasn’t really something that happened. 

Here he is though. Being pinned by Sherlock now, who’s straddling him. He’s still quite little, giggling himself as he tickled his daddy. The two of them became a wriggly mess as they tried to find each others most ticklish spots. Sherlock’s was on the inside of his bare thigh. John’s turned out to be under his arms, where Sherlock’s hand is currently trapped because John won’t raise his arm again in fear of being tickled more there. 

“Dada! Let go! Let go!” Sherlock tried to let his hand free. “I’m gonna get you!”

“I know, that’s why I’m not letting you go!” John creeps his hand playfully on the softer flesh of Sherlock’s inner thigh, causing Sherlock to squeak and try to get away. In the process, Sherlock accidentally scratches a fingernail harshly to John’s forearm. The older male hisses at the sharp contact. 

The littleness disappears from Sherlock’s face. 

“Oh, gosh....John are you-” Sherlock’s feels another tickle to his thigh and he stops talking, deep laughter rumbling in his chest. “John! Wait! I’m not l-little I’m -- hahaha!! I’m big, please! John! This is childish, now!”

“You’re just saying that because you’re losing!”

“It’s not a bloody competition, John!” Sherlock rolls off of the doctor, landing with an ‘oof!’ onto his back. He doesn’t have enough time to gather himself before John is straddling _him_ now. “When does this stop??”

“When you admit defeat!” John exclaims, hands going at Sherlock’s sides in intense tickling pursuit.

“No!” Sherlock yelps but it’s too late and he’s caught up in a wrath of tickling fury and uncontrollable laughter. “John!!”

“Admit defeat!”

“No, _you_!” Sherlock reaches his hands up to John’s armpits again. 

“Ahh!!” John cries out before both arms clamp over Sherlock’s and they’re both unable to use their hands for tickling. 

They stare at each other, breathing coarsely. Neither of them want to give first. 

“Um...” John breaks the silence however. “So...”

“Not giving in.” Sherlock says, still panting. 

“Neither am I.” John stays firm as well. “You’re still a loser, though.”

“What? _What_?” Sherlock arches a pretty brow. “That’s crap, John.”

“It’s true.”

“I can’t lose if I haven’t been defeated.”

“You lose because I’m on top, that means that you’ve been overtaken.” 

“No, it means there’s a nutter on top of me.” Sherlock crinkles his nose at John, then sticks out his tongue. 

“And the tickling is childish?” John smirks, Sherlock mirrors the smug expression. 

“Shut up, John.”

“Was that more sass?”

“Oh my gosh, I don’t like you.” Sherlock rolls his multicolored eyes. “Let me kiss you, even though you’re absolute rubbish.”

John is caught off guard by Sherlock’s request to kiss. He keeps his smirk though. 

“If you didn’t like me, you wouldn’t want to kiss me.” John replies, smile quirking further. Sherlock looks up at him, his expression softening. 

“Debatable, John.” Sherlock reaches up to hold John’s face, once his hands are free from under the older’s arms. “Maybe I just want to kiss you because I think you’re cute.”

“You’re flirting with me.” John informs Sherlock, incase he didn’t know. 

“So?” Sherlock asks rhetorically as he pulls John down to him. 

Their lips meet softly, and then again. 

“John,” Sherlock speaks against John’s mouth. 

“Hm?” John hums in response, Sherlock feels the vibrations on his own lips. 

“I don’t want to leave this place,” Sherlock whispers. “Where only you and I exist.”

“I know, I know.” John pulls back, to press his forehead to Sherlock’s. “We have to leave, and it sucks and I don’t want the real world to be a thing. I don’t want to have to work, I don’t want to have to be away from you.”

“Let’s stay here, no one will find us.” Sherlock leans up to kiss John’s mouth again. “Stay with me, stay here with me.”

“I want to.”

“Do it.”

“Can’t.” 

“You can do anything, you can stop time.” Sherlock looks up at John, the doctor’s eyes are closed. “What happens when we go home? And all of the waves of real life come crashing down on us?”

“We try not to drown.”


	73. Before We Leave

John helps Sherlock get dressed into his usual attire, dress shirt, slacks. Even though the detective wasn’t little, he still allowed John to help him dress himself. This felt different than the way that John dressed him when he was little. 

As John buttoned Sherlock’s shirt, he kissed the man’s neck. A soft slow kiss for every button. These kisses left Sherlock’s lips parted, eyes closed, head tilted to give John better access. Every so often, Sherlock would ghost John’s name across his lips. Other than that, he was silent, only gentle panting breaths. 

When Sherlock was fully dressed, John stood back to look at him. He chuckled as he eyed the detective. 

“What?” Sherlock looks down at his attire, tucking his shirt into his trousers, nappy unnoticeable underneath them. 

“Nothing, you just look like Sherlock Holmes.” John comments, feeling as always, inadequately dressed in the detective’s presence. However, at least now his excuse is that he’s only wearing pants and a tshirt. 

“Would you like me to get you dressed, in a similar manner?” Sherlock’s face reddens a bit as he offers it. 

“Nah,” John shakes his head. “Just gonna toss on my clothes, I want to spend some time with you outside before we leave this lovely location.”

“I would’ve asked you to outfit me in more leisure clothes if I’d know that, John.”

“Well, I was going to ask if you could...maybe be big with me, and we could sit out on the terrace, or go for an easy stroll.” John looks at his bare feet. “I wasn’t really thinking. Maybe you wanted to play outside, since we can’t back at 221B. Ugh, I’m so bad at communicating with you and-”

“Hush, John.” Sherlock sits on the large comfy bed. “You’ve done nothing wrong. I wouldn’t mind being big. Though, you do raise a good point. We don’t have a bloody yard at 221B.”

“Nor could you run around like a baby in it, if we did have one.” John pulls the tshirt over his head, dropping it to the floor. Though, he’d need to pick it up again soon, because he’d pack it away in their luggage to take home. 

“We should get a house, John.” Sherlock lays on his back, staring up at the ceiling. “One where we could be completely and entirely alone like this.”

“Or we could just pilfer this one from your brother.”

Sherlock laughs at this. “Just nick the bloody house?”

“Sure, he wouldn’t miss it.” John rolls his eyes. “He has houses in every country.”

“You’re not wrong.” Sherlock nods, fingers laced behind his head. 

“I know I’m not, that’s why I said it.”

“How’d you know about his other houses?”

“He wears a million hats.” John says. “A person with a million hats needs a million houses. It only seems right.”

“A house for every hat, and a hat for every house.” Sherlock hums. “I like it.”

John’s busy shrugging on articles of clothing while they talk. He’s glad Sherlock’s not looking at him as he steps out of his pants, and into a new pair. He pulls those up, and then a pair of jeans. 

“John?” Sherlock speaks suddenly. 

“Yeah?”

“Speaking of Mycroft, did I mention that he called?” 

“What?” John buttons his jeans, zips them as well. “Today?”

“No, the other day, when you were doing laundry.” Sherlock has the urge to suckle a dummy, or his fingers. But, he reframes from doing both. Talking about that phone call made him feel the need to be comforted. He wasn’t sure why, maybe it was because of the nature of the phone call. 

“Oh...fine time to bring it up a million years later.” John rolls his eyes. “Well, what’d he want?”

“There’s something he’d like me to do.”

“Alright...?”

“I don’t want to do it.”

“Do you ever want to do what your brother asks of you.”

“God, _no_.” Sherlock sits up, looks at John. The doctor is only wearing his jeans, his upper body is unclothed. John’s form was toned, with bits of softness in all the right places. Sherlock remembers the slight softness of John’s tummy, of his chest as well. After gathering an eye full, Sherlock forget what he sat up for. John was distracting, so he laid back down again. “That’s not why I’m telling you this, though.”

“Why are you telling me, then?” John digs through the luggage back for his shirt. 

“I need your help with something.”

“Oh...well, how can I help?”

“I’ll tell you at a more convenient time.”

John stares unblinkingly at the detective for a moment, before sighing as he buttons his shirt. 

“Is _anything_ ever going to be easy with you?”

“Hm...no, I don’t think so.”

“Neither do I.”


	74. “Do your best.”

Holding hands with John feels so natural, so safe...that Sherlock doesn’t know why they didn’t start doing it sooner. There were so many times when they were in the cab heading to cases, that Sherlock felt shaken up. Something as simple as holding John’s hand, platonically of course, would’ve made him feel better. But, even back then, it felt like John could always tell what Sherlock was feeling and he would engage Sherlock in some sort of conversation. That would put Sherlock more at ease. 

And, after the cases, John wouldn’t know it, but Sherlock would try and find a way to say thank you. Those were the times where Sherlock would pick up the mess in the living room, or finally get around to cleaning out his petri dishes. Or take the specimens out of the fridge and properly dispose of them. Maybe even do the dishes as well. John thinks that Sherlock just has the nervous habit of cleaning when he’s got an adrenaline after a case. But, if John had actually thought about it...Sherlock doesn’t clean after every case. Only the ones that John calms him down before.  

Back to the hand holding. Sherlock thinks it’s cute how small John’s hands are. He’s always surprised by how strong they are. How strong John’s body is all together. But, his hands mean so much to Sherlock. They wipe his tears, feed him, clean him...John’s hands are one of the main ways the doctor shows his love. Whether its using them to shoot down a bad cabbie to protect Sherlock, or using them to pet the detective’s face just because he can. 

To celebrate the last bit of their mini holiday to this beautiful location, John’s finally taking Sherlock to see the bees. Sherlock doesn’t know that it’s their end goal, he’s just been told that they’re going on a walk. 

They’re holding hands, fingers laced. Sherlock is tapping a rhythm on the spaces between John’s knuckles with the pads of his fingers. It’s clear that he’s thinking, because Sherlock often can’t keep his hands still when he is. John wonders what he’s thinking about, but it’s far too peaceful to disturb the silence now. They walk in content quietness, for as far as they had run the previous day. 

When John stops walking, Sherlock’s eyebrows knit. 

“Why’ve we stopped?” Sherlock squeezes John’s hand with his own. 

John raises his free hand to point across the path where-

“John...?” Sherlock’s lips part before pressing together as he tries to hide his positively touched smile. 

“Go on, show me to them.” John grins. “Tell me everything you know about them.”

“That’d take all day.”

“We’ve got an hour, do your best.” John squeezes his hand back. “Do your best.”


	75. Terrible Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: 
> 
> Sherlock is being silly again. Terribly so, in fact.

“Sherlock, we’ve already been over this.” John chuckles as he packs up the remainder of their laundry. Meanwhile, Sherlock made the large bed. They were preparing to leave the stone house. “No more puns from you.”

“I was just asking if all the facts I told you about bees left your head, well... _buzzing_.” Sherlock giggled like the prick he was while he pulled the sheets taut and tucked them neatly. 

“Stop it.” John couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’re terrible.”

“I’m terrible?” Sherlock pretends to be hurt. “That really... _stings_ , John.”

“Oh my gosh, really?” John looks up from the luggage bag as he zips it shut. 

“Something wrong, _honey_?” Sherlock smirks when they make eye contact. 

“I’m done, I’m not doing this.” John looks away. “Maybe if I ignore you, you’ll stop.”

“What, John? Are you allergic to bee puns?” Sherlock pulls the blanket up neatly as well. “Do bee puns give you... _hives_?”

John snorts and then covers his mouth. Sherlock laughs equal parts at John’s snort, and his own puns. 

“I think I quite like puns, John.” Sherlock says, putting the pillows into place. “They’re like jokes, but _clever_. That makes them all the more fun.”

“Stop analyzing puns.” John carries the nappy bag and the luggage bag to the bedroom door, leaving them there before turning around and walking back across the spacious master bedroom. He walks into the master bath and sighs longingly at the tub. “We should’ve taken more baths here.”

“We’ve been in this house for less than 24 hours, how many baths did you want to take?”

“At least 50.”

“Git.” Sherlock enters the bathroom after him. “We can pretend to take a bath.” Sherlock climbs into the tub and stretches out. “C’mon, John.”

“Ugh.” John scoffs at himself for actually enjoying Sherlock’s idea. 

They lay in the empty bath contently, and in silence. John lost track of how much time they’d spent in there. But, when he opens his eyes to look at Sherlock, the detective’s got prayer hands pressed to his cupid’s bow and his eyes are closed. 

“Sherlock?” John says, but he receives no acknowledgements. “Mind palace, yeah?” He asks, again no answer. “Well, alright then.” John sits up and looks around the bath. “What a lovely tub, we could install one of these in 221B, can’t we? I mean, it’s bloody huge...and would take up 70% of the space in our bathroom...but it’d be worth it.”

John realizes that he’s talking aloud and to no one, so he sighs and crawls over to Sherlock. The detective doesn’t move when John lays his head on his chest. John closes his eyes and waits for Sherlock to come back. 


	76. Ready to Go

Sherlock is in his mind palace for a good ten minutes before he returns with a gasp. John startles slightly, gasping as well. 

“You alright?” John asks automatically, Sherlock chest heaving, eyes wide. 

“Y-yeah, sorry.” The younger’s face is flushed and his eyes are darting around the room. 

“What happened? Did something happen in your mind palace?”

“What day is it, John?”

“Wednesday.” John informs him. “Why?”

“No reason.” Sherlock says quickly. “I’d just forgotten.”

“Are you sure you’re-”

“So, is everything ready to go? Are we ready to leave?” Sherlock pulls up the sleeve of his dress jacket to see his watch. “We’ve got, by my count, twenty plus minutes before our car arrives.”

“Um...everything is packed other than your laptop, which is charging downstairs.” John thinks. “Oh, and you wanted to take the leftovers from dinner. Those are in the fridge.”

“Right.” Sherlock sits up taller, John still relaxed into him. 

“...Right.” John nods, still wondering what happened in Sherlock’s mind palace. He knows it’s like a whole other world in there. Anything could’ve happened. “Before we leave, do you need to wee?”

“What?”

“Well, our drive is a tad long, don’t want you to have to sit in it for a long while.”

“Oh...I could, um, try...I suppose.” Sherlock blushes a bit. 

“It’d be best.” John clears his throat, knowing what he’s about to say might be embarrassing for Sherlock. “Also, it’s been a while since you’ve um, had a messy nappy. This is the second or third day.”

Sherlock reddens further. “...Yes.”

“I’m not sure _why_ that is, you’ve been eating well.” John says. “Maybe it’s because your body is still used to its old potty schedule. But, um two or three days is kind of a lot of days to not...have a bowel movement.”

“Mhm.”

“So...I know that you’ll most likely need to, well, _go_ at some point.” John clears his throat again. “I’m just saying that you might want to before I leave for work, or when I get back...if not sooner than that.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, because...Mrs. Hudson will be watching you for while.” John says. “And, I’m guessing that you wouldn’t want her to have to change a messy nappy. Or, you could just go to the loo.”

“Smart, Johnny.”

“Yup.”

“Alright.” Sherlock moves away from John in order to get out of the tub. “I’m gonna go pack up my laptop. I think I can make it through our ride dry. Thanks, John.” He trots from the room, stumbling, but not falling, over the bags John had left in front of the bedroom door as he left. 


	77. Tap Twice

John stood and stared at the stone house, sighing at its simplistic beauty while Sherlock talked to the driver and loaded their bags into the van. The doctor pet the stone house’s front door, then turned to look at the beautiful landscape. 

“My god, we’re leaving.” John says breathily. He actually felt like tearing up. When did he become such a sap?

“John?” Sherlock called from across the way. “You coming?”

“No, go on without me.” John waves a hand at him. “I can’t do it.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes and takes long strides over to the older male. 

“John, you’ve got work.” Sherlock offers a hand to him. “We’ve got to go.”

“Look around us, though.” John motions to all of the open green space. He takes a deep breath of the fresh air. “I _love_ this.”

“And, you love 221B.”

“I do, I do...but, ugh.” John groans. “It’s so -- hey!”

“Didn’t want to have to do this, John.”

“Put me down!” John yelps. Sherlock has wrapped his arms around John’s waist and lifted his feet off the ground. It wasn’t most ideal way to carry him, but it worked. “Sherlock! What the hell??”

“Sorry, John. Couldn’t wait for you to make up your mind to leave.” Sherlock puts John back down onto his own two feet when they’re at the door of the van. “In you go.”

“Arsehole.” John comments under his breath as he climbs in, patting his pocket to make sure he’s still got his mobile. He always fears of leaving it behind somewhere. “Wait!” John gets back out, much to Sherlock’s annoyance. 

“What now?” Sherlock shoves his hands into his pockets. 

John walks up to the driver’s window, taps on it. The tinted window comes down, and John eyes the man behind the wheel. It’s a different driver than last time. Though, this one is wearing sunglasses as well. This man was smaller than the last, seemed to be less of a threat. 

“Can I help you, Dr. Watson?” The man was chewing gum, jaw working as he waited for John’s reply. 

“No...sorry, just...” John looks away for a moment. “Just wanted to see who was joining us on this trip.”

“Oh, sir.” The man shakes his head. “I’m not joining you, I’m only the driver. This is _your_ trip, I’m just transporting you.”

“Well, that’s true.” John clears his throat. “Right, well, thanks for the transportation.”

“No, it’s my pleasure.” The man grins, gum being worked between his teeth. “If you need anything, just tap twice on the privacy window inside. I’ll let it down, help you as best I can.”

“Thanks.” John says as he watches the tinted window raise back shut. The doctor turned to get in the van, bumping into Sherlock. 

“Why do you feel the need to interrogate our drivers?” Sherlock asks, getting into the vehicle first. 

“Because, we have a tendency to get into trouble and I like to know who is around us at all times.” John gets in next, and shuts the door. 


	78. Bonehead

Upon returning to 221B, Sherlock dropped the luggage in the middle of the living room. He ran over the the mantle to his skull. 

“Hey, Bonehead!” Sherlock grins at the...literal bone head. “Have a good time watching the flat while we were gone?”

John snickers. “ _Bonehead_?” John asks, shrugging off his jacket. 

“Problem?” Sherlock pets the skull's skinless, hairless scalp. 

“Not at all, I’m glad you’re happy to see your skull.” John sighs and puts his hands on his hips. The flat looked just as they left it, though it was clear that Mrs. Hudson had been in and tidied up a bit. Other than that, the flat looked and smelled the same. It did feel like home. John didn’t feel like they were occupying someone else’s space anymore. 

Though...as he looked around the flat more, John began to feel like he’d maybe made...a mistake. He walked across the living room, a sudden tight feeling in his chest. He looks out the window and takes a deep breath trying to shake this sudden wave of emotion. 

_God, it bloody feels like I’m drowning. I know what this feeling is...but I don’t need this right now. Things are good, as they should be. I’m being patient, why do I feel so shitty about that though? Why do I feel like-_ John hears something heavy hit the ground and he jumps. He looks over his shoulder to see Sherlock picking up a book that he’d knocked off the shelf. 

“Oops,” The detective chuckles. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, it’s fine.” John turns back to the window so Sherlock can’t see his face. 

“Hey, I’m going to go down to Mrs. Hudson’s flat, see if she’s left for her hair appointment yet. I’d like to say hello.”

_See? That’s something that Sherlock might not’ve done be for. He wouldn’t think about other people so readily. Be so willing to interact. He’s changing everyday. He’s opening up more. And, that’s my doing. I’m so proud of him. Why do I have this rushing feeling that if I don’t tell him now, that I never will? Why do I feel like I might have already lost my chance? What is it about our flat that makes it feel so-_

“Are...you alright?” Sherlock asks, sensing the shift in John’s vibe. 

“Hang up your coat and scarf before you go downstairs, mate.” John says, not looking at him.

“Oh...” Sherlock looks down at himself, at his coat. “Thanks.” He hangs the items up and then trots down the stairs. 

When he’s gone John covers his mouth with his hand and takes breaths through his nose. He closes his eyes, trying to will the tightness from his chest. 

“Sherlock, we were alone.” John says from behind his hand, the words muffled and humid against his palm. “That was our chance, my chance to tell you the truth. But I was scared that you weren’t ready...I was scared that you were scared. I didn’t want to tell you how much I feel for you, then scare you away and lose everything that you’ve given me.” John feels the dampness of unshed tears on his eyelashes. “We were alone, and I could’ve told you anything, and you couldn’t have run away from me. There was no where to go. But, now...we’re back in the same flat, where everything is going to be the same again. You’ll be you, and I’ll be me and we’ll sit in our chairs.” John sputters a bittersweet laugh. “I look forward to it even...I look forward to being the same us. But, why the _fuck_ does it terrify me so much?

John turns away from the window finally, almost expecting to see Sherlock in the doorway, having overheard that. But, he was relieved to see he was still alone. He could hear Mrs. Hudson exclaiming things, Sherlock’s laughter from the unclosed door to the older woman’s flat. The doctor takes a shaky breath. 

“Why the hell do I feel like I _have_ to tell you, Sherlock?” John asks. “Ever since I finally allowed myself to acknowledge how I feel, it’s all I can think about. It’s all that I want to say to you. And, every time you ask me, _beg_ me to tell you how I feel...I say ‘no’ and I keep telling myself it’s to protect you. That it’s to keep you safe until you’re ready to know. But, I’m the biggest liar on the planet.” John’s lower lip tremors slightly, and John sucks it between his teeth, biting down until the subtle movement stops. “I’m not keeping it from you, for your protection. It’s to protect _me_. Because I’m afraid...and I’m so stupid.” John shakes his head. “You’re right, you’re always right. My brain is so _slight_ and so unused. If I was smart like you, I’d know what the hell to do right now.” 

John sits on the sofa, rubbing his fingers to his temple. 

“Maybe you have the right idea, Sherlock.” John breathes. “Maybe it would be easier if I could just not see it, write it off as human error. As rubbish.”

He hears Sherlock jogging up the steps. John takes a few deep breaths, and he perks himself up to ward off Sherlock’s suspicion. The detective stands in the doorway of their flat. Impeccably dressed as usual, a biscuit in each hand. 

The younger eyes John for a moment before walking over to him, and sitting next to John on the sofa. 

“Got you a biscuit.” Sherlock says, offering it to John without looking at him. 

“Ta.” John says as he takes it, biting a small bit off of it. “Feeling little at all?”

Sherlock shakes his head, John can tell because he sees the curls swishing out of the corner of his eye. 

“Not at all, actually.” Sherlock speaks with his mouth full. “Wanna work on some experiments until it’s time for you to head to work. Or maybe finally start composing that melody I’ve been mulling over. Is that alright? I could spend time with you if you’d prefer.”

“No, no...do as you’d like.” John insists. “You’re always free to do as you like, you know that.”

“John...one damn day, you’re going to understand that I ask you your opinion on things because it truly matters to me. You’re the one person on this Earth that has ever mattered to me in such a way that...I put you first.” Sherlock shakes his head. “Please see that.” Sherlock leans over to kiss John’s cheek before getting up and walking into the kitchen. 

“Don’t eat your biscuit and experiment at the same time.” John says, toeing off his shoes and reclining back onto the sofa. “You’ll end up consuming something deadly, I’m sure.”

“Oh...good idea, John.”

“Yup.” John stares at the ceiling. “Good idea, John.” He repeats and closes his eyes. 


	79. Photosynthesis

Sherlock was keeping his eye on his watch, glancing at it every so often while he did his experiments. He found it harder and harder to focus as the time to John’s departure drew closer. He became increasingly frustrated by the littleness that constantly loomed over him. That side of him was crying out for his daddy, and was causing Sherlock to be unable to gather his data properly. 

Eventually, he growled out in frustration and rose from his table. John had been relaxing on the sofa, his journal on his knees, writing. Sherlock wasn’t sure if it was more of John’s mind palace things, or if it were just...other sorts of journal entries. But, Sherlock didn’t really care either at the moment. Because, he wanted to be John’s little boy. He wanted to be cared for, he wanted John’s attention. 

John had looked up from his journal in concern when Sherlock growled. But, he assumed it had to do with the experiment and went back to writing. Sherlock however, after rising from his latest experiment, picked up the ice cube tray full of the concoction, and put it into the fridge where he hoped it would culture. 

Then, he marched down the hallway and into his bedroom. He aggressively undressed himself, throwing his trousers across the room, his jacket as well. He unbuttoned the shirt carefully, however tossed it to the floor in front of his feet. Stepping on it as he went into his drawer, pulling out a tshirt. This shirt had a simple, children’s level illustration of photosynthesis. He shrugged it over his head, then fished out a pair of cotton shorts. 

Once he was dressed, he marched out into the living room. His headspace finally allowed to spill over, and oh, it did. 

“Dada!” Sherlock said loudly, folded his arms as he stood in the center of the living room. 

“Oh, uh...yes?” John stuck his page marker in his book journal and shut it, sitting it on the coffee table. 

“Want you.” Sherlock walked over to him and opened his arms. 

“Sure, come here.” John sat up and opened his arms as well. Sherlock grinned and happily laid himself down on the sofa, head in John’s lap. “I’ve got to get going in a little bit, love. We can’t be like this too long, I’m afraid.” 

“No, Dada stay.” Sherlock’s eyebrows come together. 

_Hm, I’ve been getting ‘Dada’ a lot more than ‘Daddy’ lately._ John thinks. _I wonder why. Maybe he just prefers to call me that now? He doesn’t seem terribly small right now._

“Dummy?” Sherlock asks. 

“In your nappy bag.” John points to the bag, still sitting on the floor where Sherlock had left it. 

“Ugh.” The boy rolls his eyes before getting up and going to the bag, shuffling through it before finding the dummy case and a clip. He brought the items to John, watching as the older male expertly fastened the dummy to the clip, and the clip to Sherlock’s shirt. 

John also chuckled at the shirt Sherlock was wearing. 

“ _Photosynthesis_.” John chuckles in disbelief. 

“Why’s it funny, Dada?” Sherlock looks down at his shirt. 

“I’m just amazed at all of the shirts you have.” John shakes his head. “It’s incredible.”

“Oh...” Sherlock picks up his dummy and inserts it into his mouth. “Like shirts?”

“Yes, I think they’re great. They all suit your interests.”

Sherlock smiles from behind his dummy then reaches up to pull on John’s sleeve.

“Hm?” John arches a brow. 

“Dada play with Sherlock?” The boy asks sweetly. “Play?”

John glances at the time and he nods. “Something quick, sweetheart.”


	80. You and Mrs. Hudson

Mrs. Hudson came upstairs to find the two males both crawling on the floor with dinosaurs in their hands. Sherlock was making his dino talk, and it was saying facts about what type of dinosaur it was, and what it’s evolved into over the years. It’s closest relative alive nowadays, according to Sherlock, was a type of large bird. 

Sherlock then told John that he was playing the game wrong, because John didn’t know any facts about his dinosaur and he was making his eat Sherlock’s. 

“No, Dada!” Sherlock says as his dino is devoured by John’s. “That one is an herbivore! You can tell because of the long neck and the -- oh.” Sherlock looks up and spots Mrs. Hudson. “Hi, Nana.”

“Hello, lovely!” She comes from the doorway and over to the boys. “Having fun?”

Sherlock nods, picking his dummy up by its clip, putting it in his mouth as he grows a bit shy. He self soothes and John checks the time again. 

“It’s about that time, then.” John stands up from the floor. 

“Dada, you forgot your dino.” Sherlock picks up the toy, offering it to John. 

“Sweetie, Daddy has to go to work.” John says and the boy frowns, he whines and thrust the toy up to John again. 

“Take!” Sherlock shouts. 

“Sherlock...” John sighs. 

“Take it, _please_!” Sherlock sounds desperate, as if John didn’t take the dino, that John would forget all about his little boy while at work. 

“Ok, ok...I’ll take it.” John takes the dinosaur. It wasn’t really all that big, and...no one would really notice it. Probably. “Thank you, Sherlock. I love it.”

Sherlock is still frowning, but he seems pleased that John has it. 

“So, John,” Mrs. Hudson claps her hands together. “Quick run down of what I need to know?”

“Oh, right...” John feels a bit of nervousness pooling in his stomach. “I’ve never left him alone before, with someone else.” He really does feel like a new parent, struggling to part with their child. 

“We’ll be just fine.” Mrs. Hudson assures him. 

“I’m sure.” John gives a small smile then begins talking. “Sherlock already had a biscuit from you earlier, I don’t think he should have but one or two more. Preferably one.” John thinks. “He hasn’t eaten anything besides that since we’ve been home, so he might be hungry. If he asks for just a bottle, insist that he has something more. If he’s naughty about it, or anything else, put him in the corner. No toys, no soothers.” John counts the things on his fingers. 

“He should wee at least once or twice while I’m gone, I’ll be away for a while. He hasn’t had a messy nappy lately...and he _might_ but I doubt it. If you notice he’s looking like he might need to, and you don’t want to change that, then he can go potty.” John thinks. “Speaking of messy, he _is_ lactose intolerant so...no cheese or yogurt or milk. Even if he asks nicely.” John hums. 

“He hasn’t napped today, he might be cranky.” John points to the nappy bag. “All the nappy supplies are in that bag by the way. You can change him wherever you’d like. On the bed might be easier on your back, but if it’s messy the bathroom would be best-”

“John...” Mrs. Hudson giggles. “That’s enough. I’ve taken care of children before.”

“You have? I thought you didn’t have any-”

“Nieces and nephews, John.” The woman smiles. “If Sherlock is anything like them, or worse, I can handle it.”

“Alright, sorry for underestimating your abilities.” John walks across the room and pulls on his coat. “Ok, Sherlock...” John feels a little shaky, having to say goodbye. 

Sherlock isn’t helping either, his eyes are big and working on becoming watery. 

“No, don’t...don’t do that Sherlock.” John chuckles, but it’s bittersweet. “Because, if _you_ start then I’ll-”

The boy does an intake of breath before he begins to cry. Mrs. Hudson makes a sympathetic sound and covers her mouth, holds a hand to her face. John pokes out his bottom lip at the sad sight, going back over to his baby. 

“Sherlock Holmes, you stop that.” John tries not to become too emotional himself, or he’d call in sick for sure. “Come here.” John opens his arms. Sherlock hiccups sobs as he climbs onto his feet. He toddles over to John and wraps his arms around his daddy. John rubs his back with one hand, with the other he puts the dummy in the baby’s mouth. Sherlock suckles for a few seconds, before whimpering still from behind it. “Daddy will be back in just a bit, love.”

Sherlock doesn’t respond, he only cries more. 

“Last time, when you were crying...about having to leave the flat.” John says. “You told me that it was because you were afraid that you’d go out there and make a mistake, a big mistake, remember?”

The boy nods. 

“Why are you crying now?” John asks him, and Sherlock holds John tighter. 

“You’re l-leaving me and it...” Sherlock voice is deeper now. “It makes me s-sadder than it probably should. I hate when you’re not with me, John. I feel so bloody off balance and alone.” He admits. “Even vulnerable.”

John hugs Sherlock. “Hey, no one is going to hurt you while I’m gone.” His voice sounds strong, sure. “It’s just going to be you and Mrs. Hudson.”

“I know that, John. But, I want _you_.” Sherlock sniffles and pulls back to look at him. The detective’s face is flushed and wet with tears. “I love you.”

John hears Mrs. Hudson coo, but he ignores it in favor of offering Sherlock a smile. 

“I love you too, I do.” John nods. “I’ll be home in just a few hours.”

“It’s too long.”

“What do you want to do when I get back?”

“Be with you.”

“Anything specifically?” 

“Do kisses.” Sherlock says, and in his ‘big’ voice it sounds silly and adorable and so _Sherlock_. Even if it’s broken English. “Please.”

Sherlock didn’t need to say please so convince John to kiss him when he got home. But, the please only made John want to stay home and do it now. 

“Alright, love.” John nods, reaching up to wipe Sherlock’s tears with his thumb. “When I get home, we’ll, um, ‘do kisses’.” The term sounds silly coming from John’s mouth, and Sherlock laughs. 

“Promise?”

“What?” John rolls his eyes, a grin on his face. “Yes, I promise. You donut.”

“Good.” Sherlock mirrors John’s grin. 

“In fact, gimme one now.”

“Or two?” Sherlock takes a step closer. 

“Or ten, yeah ten.” John nods eagerly, reaching up to hold the back of Sherlock’s neck. Both of them have forgotten that Mrs. Hudson is there, even before their lips met. And, they soon turn into a tiny flurry of kisses and giggles. Mrs. Hudson pretends to be able to ignore the soft sounds of small kisses being traded, breathy laughs and shuffling feet as they scramble to get closer to one another after separating briefly. 

Soon though, it’s gone on for too long and John really does have to leave. 

“John...” Mrs. Hudson clears her throat loudly. “Yoo-hoo! John, dear?”

No response, Sherlock and John have entered their own little world. 

“Boys!” She shouts and the two men jump. Sherlock turns to look at her first, eyes glaring. John just looks confused, as if he didn’t know what she was doing in their flat. “John, you have _got_ to go, love.”

“Oh! Right!” John grabs his things, dinosaur included. “I’ll be home soon enough, and I promise we’ll do more kisses when I get back.”

“Dada...no, pl-” Sherlock slips into his little space immediately as John flits about the flat. 

“Don’t you _dare_ say ‘please’, Sherlock.” John points a finger at him. “I’ll never be able to leave.” He comes over to Sherlock, brushes a kiss over his forehead. “Love you.” He whispers, then waves at Mrs. Hudson. “Thanks again, Mrs. H!”

“Anytime, dear!” She waves back. John closes the door behind him and then it’s just Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson. 

Sherlock runs his tongue over his lips, attempting to gather the last taste of John there. He sighs and turns, catching eyes with Mrs. Hudson. She gives him an understanding smile. 

“He’ll be back.” She says, clasping her hands in front of herself. 

“Yes...I know.” Sherlock reaches a hand up and touches the curls near his ear. 

“It is nice, though.”

He looks up at her, eyebrows knit slightly. “What is?”

“You two...together, _finally_.” She giggles. 

_Together?_ “Well...yes.” Sherlock can’t help but feel that she’s implied that differently than he might’ve himself. 

“How is it?” She asks, picking up his nappy bag, and taking it over to sit on the sofa. 

“How is...?” He trails off, unsure of what she’s asking. 

“Being with John, silly.” Mrs. Hudson digs through the bag, pulling out the owl, setting it on the coffee table. 

“Oh...” Sherlock clears his throat. “Well, I love being with John. I always have.”

“Always?” She looks up, surprised. “You’ve been together for a while?”

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“Sorry,” Sherlock squints his eyes at her. “Are we talking about the same thing?”

“Maybe not...” She knits her eyebrows as well. 

“Perhaps we shouldn’t talk about it, then.” The detective folds his arms in front of himself, a protective barrier. 

“Perhaps.” She agree reluctantly. “Either way, it’s nice to see you two like this. You bother deserve that sort of happiness.”

“Thank you.” Sherlock tightens his arms around himself. 

“Are you ok?” Mrs. Hudson pulls out the two bottles, and one sippy-cup from the bag. They’re all empty, and she decides that she’s going to give them a wash, if Sherlock didn’t need anything right now. 

“I...” Sherlock wasn’t sure, he still didn’t feel right now that John was gone. 

“Well, if you don’t feel very small anymore...I won’t treat you that way.” 

“No, I’d like to be small with you...I’m just a bit _off_ without John.” Sherlock isn’t looking at her anymore. “It’s harder to slip without him here.”

“Is there something I can do?”

“Just...I need a moment.” 

“Sure.” She gets up and takes the bottles and cup with her to the sink, humming as she begins to wash them. Sherlock listens to her comforting noise, as he crawls onto the couch. He picks up My from the coffee table and holds the owl to his chest. He closes his eyes, feeling much more tired than he remembers feeling before John left. 

_John_. Sherlock thought about him. The way he smiles, laughs. He even liked how John walked. With his arms swinging at his sides like a big tough guy. John’s like those sorts of dogs who think they’re much bigger than they are. Sherlock liked that. Because, people assume things about John because of how he looks. They assume he’s just a small inside as he is outside. But, John is larger than life, a wind storm strong enough to move mountains. And, Sherlock misses him. 


	81. Don't Fix It

The first thing little Sherlock wanted to do with Mrs. Hudson, was get to know her. Because, he’d been with her once while he was little, he knew a bit. But, he wanted to really familiarize himself with the older woman. They sat facing each other on the sofa, and Sherlock eyed her for a while. His dummy bobbing under his nose, his owl in one of his arms. 

“What are you looking at, silly?” Mrs. Hudson asks, staring unafraid into Sherlock’s pretty eyes. The boy doesn’t respond, only reaching up to touch her face. She doesn’t stop him from doing so, though she’s not sure what he’s doing. 

His hand gently touches her cheek, tracing the fine lines up to her cheekbone. Next, he traces over one of her eyebrows. Then he retracts his hand and smiles at her from behind his dummy. 

“Nana!” He says happily, once he’s finished. 

“Hello, sweet boy.” She grins at him. “What a cutie, you are.”

“Cute, me?” He points to himself. 

“The cutest, I believe, yes.” She nods, watching his eyes trail about the flat.

“Dada?” He looks back to Mrs. Hudson, a hint of sadness in his voice. 

“He’ll be right back.” She assures him. “For now though, we have work to do.”

“Work?” He repeats.

“Yup, we’re going to clean out that darn fridge.” She points to it. “I was meaning to do it while you two were away. But, I got caught up chatting on the phone with an old friend. Goodness, it had been ages since I’d-” She stops talking when she feels weight upon her chest. Sherlock has leaned onto her, self soothing on his dummy. 

“Nana?” He says, voice terribly small. 

“Yes, love?” She takes a hand, carding it through his curls. 

“When Daddy isn’t here...I feel like I’m falling apart inside.” Sherlock says in nearly a whisper. “Sometimes I feel like that when he’s here, too. When I feel like I’m not close enough to him.”

Mrs. Hudson is quiet for a moment, then she nods. 

“I know that feeling.” She replies softly. “It hurts here.” She taps his tummy. “And here.” She puts a hand over his heart. “Right?”

“Yes, Nana.” Sherlock nods. “It’s all I can ever think about, sometimes.”

“Poor dear.” She hugs him to her. 

“Why does it hurt?”

“You love him very much, and sometimes all that love builds up too much pressure inside you.” She kisses his forehead, Sherlock snuggles himself closer against her breast for comfort. “He feels the same, I’m sure.”

“How do we fix it?”

“No, no, love.” She shakes her head. “You don’t want to fix it.”

“Why not?” Sherlock frowns. “Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t.” 

“Why?”

“Because, when that feeling goes away...that might mean it’s coming to an end.”

“What is?”

“Your ride.”


	82. Plateosaurus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello!
> 
> Whoa, chapters 64-82 today, you guys.  
> Whooooa that's a lot. I guess I really missed you all, huh?
> 
> Enjoy, enjoy. 
> 
> Stay safe, enjoy the little things, you're not alone, drink lots of water, get some sleep.  
> I'm honestly telling you all this, because I need someone to tell me this. And, I think if something like that would help me, it might help some of you to feel better as well. Not trying to waste your time, I'm trying to tell you that your time is not wasted. Love you :)
> 
> PS: I missed a million typos, I'm sure. I'll go fix them ASAP.

John sat in his office, filling out forms. He was in between patients, and he was keeping himself busy. He kept debating texting Sherlock, but...that might be an unneeded distraction. If Sherlock was enjoying himself with Mrs. Hudson, texting him would only remind Sherlock that he isn’t there. That could sour Sherlock again, if he’s unsoured, anyway. So, he left it alone. 

He looked at the dinosaur sitting on his desk. 

“Silly.” He picks it up, looking at it. The toy is lightweight, made of plastic. 

_“It’s a plateosaurus, Dada.”_ Sherlock had said when he had first introduced John to the dinosaur, giving it to him with careful hands. 

“A...plateosaurus.” John doesn’t remember ever hearing of that one. The only dino he could name off hand was a T-Rex, because everyone knows what those are. The big scary ones that had stubby little arms, and ate all the other dinosaurs. “Sherlock says that a plateosaurus is an herbivore...that you can tell by its...neck, because it’s long enough to reach the trees and such.” John says aloud, in hopes of remembering. He knows that Sherlock would like him to remember. He also knows that the curly haired male would give him lots of praise for remembering. And, he’s a glutton for Sherlock’s praise, whether it’s from his big or little side. 

He was still grinning when he got a knock on the door. 

“Yeah?” John calls and the door opens. Sarah pokes her head in. “Oh, hi.”

“Hi!” She’s pretty cheerful for someone who’s been stuck working the morning shift, and now has to work the night shift as well. “You’ve got Mr. Addison, bad chest pain.” She informs him. 

“You could’ve just paged me, you know.” He points to the phone on the desk. 

“Yeah, but I just wanted to see how you were doing.” She gives him a small smile. 

“Ah, I see. Well, thanks.” He stands up from his desk. “I’ll be right in to see him.”

“Great.” Sarah doesn’t leave, and John clears his throat. 

“Was there something else?”

“You didn’t respond to my email...about the charity banquet.” She reminds him. 

“Oh...right.” John had completely forgotten. 

“So, do you think you could make it?”

“Well...” John begins, but Sherlock pops into his head. His first thought, was about feeling bad for leaving his little boy again. He’d already had a hard time doing so tonight. The next thought, was...whether or not the dinner was supposed to be a date or not. Because, if it was...he really, _really_ shouldn’t go. Even though he’d never officially defined himself with Sherlock, he couldn’t just go on dates with other people. Sherlock would be hurt, and John would regret it afterwards. John didn’t really want to date anyone else anyway. He wanted Sherlock. But, damn if Sarah wasn’t pretty. And, they’d had good sex the last time. John shakes his head to clear it. “Alright, look...”

“Yes?” Sarah looked a bit nervous now. 

“I need to be honest with you...” John sighs. “Is this a...date? The dinner?”

Sarah nibbled his bottom lip, she’d hoped he wouldn’t ask. 

“I’m not...sure?” She raises her shoulders. “Would it be bad if it was? I mean...I know we tried it already...but we didn’t end on bad terms and I thought that trying again would be...alright.”

John doesn’t want to upset her, nor lead her on. He sighs. 

“I have a patient to see.” Comes out of his mouth before he can stop it. 

“But, we’ll talk about this some other time?”

“Sure.”

“We don’t have to do the dinner...this weekend, if it’s too short notice and you’d like time to think.” She moves from the doorway. “But, maybe we could do something else sometime.”

“I’ll talk to you later.” John walks down the hall, to avoid further discussing the topic. 


	83. Nutritional Facts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello!!
> 
> Chapters 83-92!
> 
> Sorry for the wait! This update was actually going to be a loooot longer than this is!  
> But, I really just didn't like what I had written at all. Like, I know in my head what I want to happen, but writing it just isn't working out. So, my apologies. 
> 
> See you in the next update!
> 
> ~TJL

It was early evening time, and Greg had settled comfortably into his reclining chair with a bag of crisps nestled in his lap. He’d never started counting how many of them he was eating, and he’d turned the side of the bag with the nutritional facts on it away from him to ward off any guilt. He’d put on one of, in his opinion, the best movies ever, and was snacking while he watched. His gluttony and entertainment came to a stop when his mobile began to ring on the side table by his chair. He reached for it, groaning at the greasy streak his thumb left on his screen when he picked it up. Greg scoffs at the caller ID as he answers the call. 

“I haven’t heard from the bloke, so don’t ask.” The DI speaks into the device, holding it between his ear and shoulder while he used his hands to continue snacking. 

“For god’s sake, stop crunching into my ear like an animal, Greg.” 

“Stop calling me about your brother, and maybe I will.” Lestrade smirks, now he’s purposely chewing loudly to get a reaction out of the older Holmes brother. “Seriously though, Mycroft, I haven’t seen or heard from Sherlock. Molly says he’s not been to Barts either.”

“No, no...I’m aware of that.” Mycroft sighs, and Greg isn’t sure what to say. 

“Oh...” Greg clears his throat. “So, what’re you calling me for?”

“Has Sherlock seemed...different to you?” 

“Different?”

“Yes, I’m...concerned.” 

“You always are.” Greg reminds him, bringing another handful of crisps into his mouth. 

“Yes, but this time I think I have proper reason.” 

“What’s your reason?” The silver haired man is speaking with his mouth full. 

“You’re such a pig.”

“That’s true, but...”

“But?”

“ _But_ , it doesn’t bother you as much as it should, and that worries you.” Greg says smugly. “Am I wrong?”

Mycroft says nothing, but shifts in his seat and clears his throat. _How the hell does_ ** _he_** _know that?_

“I _know_ because you’re like your damn brother.” The inspector once again reads Mycroft’s mind. 

“I _am not_ , don’t say such things.” Mycroft shifts in his leather seat again, a slight frown on his face. “Speaking of him, might I get back to my point?”

“Tell me what you’re worried about this time.”

“Don’t say _this time_ like I call you often about him.”

“It’s becoming less of a rare occurrence.” Once again, Greg is smug. “I think you just like talking to me, however.”

“Ridiculous.”

“Christ, you’re _just like_ your brother.” Greg is laughing now. “Just bloody tell me what you’re worried about. Has he been ignoring your calls again? If so, that’s because he doesn’t like to speak over the phone, also because he doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“Like I don’t already know that?” Mycroft scoffs. “That’s the thing, though. He _did_ answer my phone call the other day.” Mycroft folds one leg over the other. “He never does that.”

“I see.” Greg doesn’t actual see. “So, what does it mean if he answers your calls?”

“It means...he’s changing.” Mycroft rubs a hand over his face. “I don’t know if it’s a good thing anymore. At first, I was happy for him. But, now I am very worried.”

“Changing how?”

“You haven’t noticed anything different about him?”

“Last I saw of him, he was at a crime scene.” Greg shrugs. “Trotting around like normal, running my damn investigation.”

“Anything before that?”

“Oh!” The inspector exclaims. “Yeah, I saw something different before that!”

“What was it?” Mycroft tries to sound nonchalant, though his heart speeds up in his chest. He’d be damned if he lead that on to Greg. 

“I _may_ have just...come in on an experiment or something...but...”

Mycroft is worried that Greg is going to say something about seeing Sherlock during his little time. “Tell me, don’t be a tease.”

“I saw him kissing John Watson.” Greg announces. “Can you damn believe it? I ask them to come examine two bodies, and they bloody run down the hall and examine each others!”

Mycroft sighs with relief. 

“Greg, that’s nothing new.” Mycroft rolls his eyes.

“How the hell can you say that? It’s the first I’ve seen of it.” The sentence is said, followed by more of Lestrade’s munching. 

“That _is_ however what I am worried about.”

“You’re worried that he’s kissing John?” Lestrade raises the crisps bag, testing its weight in his hands to determine how much he’s eaten. Doesn’t feel too light, he can keep snacking, Greg decides. 

“I’m worried that he’s fallen in love with him.” 

“Huh?” Lestrade had stopped listening for a second. 

“I am afraid Sherlock is falling in love.” Mycroft repeats. “He isn’t ready for that sort of thing. Sherlock Holmes is a child and -- oh.” Though he knows Lestrade won’t take the words as the truth, he’d have no clue how _literal_ that statement was. 

“Ain’t that the truth.” Greg chuckles. “He is a damn kid. You should see him frolicking around the crime scene like a play room.”

“Anyway,” Mycroft gives a slightly distressed noise, he doesn’t know why he’s letting himself be so vulnerable with Greg. This isn’t the first time or the last they’ve talked. It’s actually the third time this week. “Enough about Sherlock...how have you been? Things with the wife.”

“As if you don’t know, you’re just like Sherlock.”

“You keep saying that.”

“It’s true, you know all of my business before I know.” Greg finally closes up the bag of crisps, the bag loudly being compressed shut. Mycroft grimaces at all the noise. 

“You’re such a _loud_ thing, aren’t you? You remind me of a chimp.”

“Bleeding hell, _thanks_.” Lestrade snorts. “You’re pretty swell yourself.”

“Sorry.”

“You just apologized to me, _that’s_ a start.” Greg snickers. “We could both learn something about being more human.”

“Are you avoiding talking to me about your wife?” Mycroft’s eyes move across the room towards the window. It’s getting quite dark out, night is falling. 

“...Maybe.” Greg wipes a hand over his face. “If I ask you something, will you be honest with me?”

“I would take no joy in lying to you.”

“Just yes or no.”

“Yes, I will tell the truth.”

“Ok,” The silver haired man clears his throat, sitting on in his seat. “How much do you already know?”

“About?”

“Please don’t play dumb.”

“Very well,” Mycroft plays the list of things in his head quickly before beginning. “I am aware that you two no longer live together, she’s left to go live with a physical education teacher from the school she works at. She calls every week, telling you several things about her ‘new life’ in hopes of making you jealous. You cared at first, but you’ve stopped caring as much. Mostly because your emotional dependence on her has lowered dramatically as of late.” He pauses. “That probably means you’ve found another emotional release, someone new perhaps.”

“I’ve made a friend.”

“Ah, _of course_ , because you’ve still been dining solo, doing most things solo. So, you're not with another romantic partner.” Mycroft doesn’t know why...but it pleases him to learn that Lestrade hasn’t thrown himself into another relationship so quickly. “And...”

“And?”

“You and your wife are planning a divorce.” Mycroft finishes. “That’s all I know.”

“Don’t say it so nonchalantly.” Greg is laughing. “You know _everything_...well, mostly.”

“Mostly?” Mycroft repeats. “What did I miss?”

“Well, do you know who my new friend is?” Greg asks. 

“Why should I?”

Lestrade sighs, breath crinkling over the mobile’s microphone. He doesn’t say anything. Mycroft tries to deduce that silence, but he doesn’t understand it. Greg seems more distant now. 

“Are you alright?” Mycroft isn’t sure...why he _cares_. Caring isn’t something he did much of. Being around little Sherlock had opened him up more to the idea of _caring_ , but...it still wasn’t his strong suit. “Has talking about your wife upset you?”

“No, no...of course not.” Greg still sounds distant. He’s sort of just realized something. “Mycroft...?”

“Yes?”

“Would you like to go out for drinks sometime?”

“Go...out for drinks?” Mycroft’s brow furrows. “What would that do?”

“What?”

“Going out for drinks, it’s a social thing, I am aware.” The Holmes brothers really are alike in the way that social or emotional things go over their heads. They literally can’t _see_ it. “Would this be something to do for ‘fun’?”

“You say ‘fun’ like it’s poison.”

“Isn’t it?”

“If you wouldn’t like to then-”

“I am willing to participate in this.”

“Again, Mycroft,” Greg laughs. “A simple yes or no would do.”

“...Yes.”


	84. Yellow Rubber Gloves

Sherlock is holding a trash bag while his nana rummages through the fridge. Because Sherlock was little, he was less likely to whine about his things being thrown out. Though, most of them were at the point that they were really becoming a health hazard anyway. 

“Ewwww, Nana!” Sherlock squeaks as Mrs. Hudson holds up a petri dish crusted over with...some greenish substance. 

“Ew is right, look at this!” She exclaims. “We can’t save this one, the entire dish has got to go.”

“Bye bye, petri.” Sherlock says as Mrs. Hudson tosses it into the bag he’s holding. 

“Yes, bye bye.” The woman says. “Are there anymore in here?”

“Um...no more.” Sherlock is lying, Mrs. Hudson knows this.

“Where are they, Sherlock?”

“No!” Sherlock shakes his head. “Nana, done!”

“Oh, there’s an entire -- for goodness sakes, Sherlock Holmes!” Mrs. Hudson exclaims as he opens the refrigerator drawer on the bottom shelf. “Telling a lie is very naughty, but I won’t give you trouble about it.”

“No, Nana! It’s hard for those types of bacteria to culture in the cold, but those ones seem to be feeding off of themselves despite their conditions and I need to find out _why_ so we can’t toss them!” The little boy rambles on and Mrs. Hudson rolls her eyes. 

“Goodness me, what a smart boy.” She sighs, giving up on tossing the contents of this drawer. “But, there aren’t any _parts_ here?”

“No, nothing too yucky, Nana.”

“Then,” Mrs. Hudson crinkles her nose. “Explain _this_!” She holds up a plastic baggy of something in a rather gelatinous...substance. The boy giggles at his nana’s expression, she looks was seasick. “Are these...what are these??” 

“Keep, keep!” Sherlock shakes his head. “No! No throw out, no!”

“Don’t toss them? But...Sherlock _look_ at them they’re all...squidgy.”

“No!”

“Fine, fine.”

“Keep all that.” Sherlock takes the baggie away, returning it to its keeping place and he slams the drawer shut and closes the fridge himself, folding his arms. “Mine.”

“We were doing so well though! We’ve cleaned out a good portion of that fridge. Why don’t we do the rest?”

“No!” Sherlock stomps his feet, but instantly gets a bit afraid. His daddy had told him before that stomping is very naughty. So, he stops. 

“Well, fine...then.” Mrs. Hudson sighs. “What a stubborn boy.”

Sherlock extends his hands to Mrs. Hudson. “Off?” 

“Oh, sure.” She reaches forward and pulls the yellow rubber gloves from his hands, dropping them into the plastic bucket she’s left out by the sink. He’s been wearing them as protection from his expired experiments. Mrs. Hudson is wearing some herself. She ties the trash bag shut before taking off her own gloves.

~*~

Fridge has been cleared of all yucky things, cleaned with a safe disinfectant. Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock have also throughly cleaned the rest of the kitchen: the tables, the counters. Last thing they cleaned were their hands before it was time for Sherlock to have his dinner. He demanded to have the leftovers from the supper John had prepared the previous night at the stone house. Thinking of that location made Sherlock’s heart twinge, he missed that place terribly. Not as much as he missed John, though. 

Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock were at the kitchen table in he and John’s flat. Somewhere in the middle of his feeding, Sherlock became big again. But, Mrs. Hudson didn’t stop feeding him, nor did he want her too. 

“John takes care of me, really very well.” Sherlock speaks with his mouth full.

“I can see that.” Mrs. Hudson scoops more food onto the eating utensil and holds it up in front of Sherlock’s mouth. The detective chews and swallows what’s in his mouth before parting his lips again. He’s not looking at Mrs. Hudson, rather, he’s looking passed her. He is thinking as he chews. Though once he’s swallowed that morsel as well, he takes a break from thinking to question her previous statement. 

“What do you mean by that?” Sherlock asks. “How can you ‘see’ that?”

She reaches forward and touches his tummy. “He’s been feeding you up.”

Sherlock takes his large hands, putting them over his stomach. It wasn’t very large, by any means. He wasn’t becoming overweight at all. It’s just, he’s not so _thin_ anymore. He’s the correct size that he should be, for someone who’s regularly eating. He rubs his hands over his belly. 

“Yes, he has been.” Sherlock agrees, hearing the utensil against the plate again. “I want to thank him properly.”

“He’d appreciate that.”

“I know,” Sherlock waves a hand, cockily. “Of course he will, he’s John.”

“You shouldn’t just assume things, love.”

“Assume?” Sherlock scrolled, mouth automatically opening as the utensil made its way to his lips. He chews, still opting to talk with his mouth full. “Nana,” He doesn’t realize he’s called her that while he’s big. “John loves me. Therefore, he’d appreciate me thanking him for all he does....it’s hardly a deduction! It’s _fact_ and facts are true whether you believe them or not.”

“All I am saying, is that...” Mrs. Hudson rolls her eyes. “Never mind, dear.”

“Because I’m right.” Sherlock smirks. 

“No, because you’re an arse and there’s just no getting around that.” The older woman giggles and Sherlock’s eyes widen. Little or not, hearing Mrs. Hudson call him an arse was stunning.

“Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock exclaims. 

“Don’t be surprised.” She continues to laugh. “John probably calls you that as well, only let people who love you call you that.”

“Well, of course John calls me-” He cuts himself short when his brain reintroduces the woman’s words back to him. “People who...love me?”

“Yes.” She nods, picking up more food onto the utensil, holding it in front of his mouth. “Open up, dear.”

“Mrs. Hudson...” Sherlock is looking down at his lap.

“What’s wrong? I’ve made you upset?”

“No.”

“Oh...” She sets the food back onto the plate. “Then...what is it?”

“You love me?”

Mrs. Hudson does something like a snort. She playfully gives the man a swat above his knee. It doesn’t hurt, it’s a featherlight contact against his skin. It’s done more for emphasis than anything. 

“Sherlock Holmes!” She cries out. “I’ve dealt with your racket, your experiments, the flat being broken into by criminals, you shooting _my_ wall at obscene hours, nearly _entire_ human bodies in the fridge! I’m even bloody babysitting you, and having quite a lovely time doing so. I accept you for who you are completely.” Mrs. Hudson touches a hand to his face. “I love you very much, silly.”

Sherlock isn’t _used_ to this. First, John gives him strange feelings, which he can’t put a name to...but now Mrs. Hudson. She’s giving him feelings that he can name. Trust. Acceptance. Love. Happiness. Are all of those things even feelings? Well, he’s feeling them, so they must be. 

“I...love you as well.” Sherlock states. “I must, for these...feelings tell me so.”

“Good.” Mrs. Hudson nods. “That makes me happy.”

“Right.” Sherlock clears his throat, looking at his lap. 

“You alright?”

“Earlier today, John seemed...unsettled.” 

“Do you know why?” She asks, picking up the utensil again, offering him more of his dinner. He accepts it, shaking his head as he chews. 

“No clue.”

“You’d just returned home from holiday, maybe he just had to get used to the flat again.” She supposes. 

“It was only for a day.”

“Well, it isn’t hard to get used to some place new, especially if one enjoys the place.”

Sherlock swallows. “You’re _really_ quite intelligent, Nana -- Mrs. Hudson.” He comments. “I should’ve told you that sooner.”

“Telling me now is just as well.” 


	85. Stethoscope

John extended a hand to his patient, one he’s become familiar with now. A young man, early twenties, university student. Wants to become a teacher. But, that...

The young man gave a wet cough. 

But, that future might not be ever seen by him. 

“How are you feeling?” John tries not to sound apologetic for asking the question. Adam, the patient, doesn’t like feel that everyone is sorry for him. He always reminds John that he feels plenty sorry for himself, and that should be enough. 

“Good, good.” Adam nods, green eyes looking away from John as he answers. Probably trying to hide his face from the doctor. He’s lying, he feels horrible, worse than last time they’ve seen each other. 

“You know,” John sits down in his seat. “You come to see me, more than you go to see the specialist. Adam, you know I can’t give you the same treatments that they can. Nor can I really... _do_ much to help.”

“I like coming to see you, Doctor Watson.” Adam shrugs. “You make things better.”

“I can’t _treat_ you.” John shakes his head. “You’ve got a lot going for you.”

Adam only shrugs, pulling his hat further down over his ears. A nervous action. 

“I’ve referred you to the best doctors I know, that _anyone_ knows.”

“Thanks for that.”

“Have you actually gone to see them?”

“It stresses me out.” Adam shrugs. “I mean, they started the treatments...I don’t think it’s going to make a difference, though.”

“Has your status been improving?” John arches a brow. “I highly doubt that the treatments could make things worse.”

“My hair.”

“Huh?” John’s brow furrows. 

“My fucking _hair_ , look.” Adam pulls off the hat he’d been tugging at, revealing that his ginger locks are gone now. “It started falling out, so I just shaved it all off. I don’t see how Jessie can even stand to look at me anymore.” He speaks of his girlfriend. 

“Because, she cares about you.” John shifts his weight in his seat. “I bet that she’s proud you’ve started the treatments. You never answered my question.”

“What question?”

“Are the treatments helping, or no?”

“Sort of...not a lot of results yet.” Adam shrugs. “I’m stable, not improving.”

“For you, stable is improving.” John gives a small smile. “That’s brilliant actually. Remember the first time we met? You could hardly breathe and you were so _weak_.”

“Oh...yeah.” Adam chuckles, but it results in another violent series of coughs. 

John winces, the coughing still sounds as awful as the day they met. 

“We’ve _got_ to get you better.” John reaches for the tissue box, handing it over because all of the forceful coughing has made Adam’s eyes water. 

“Ta.” Adam takes it and begins wiping his eyes. “So, enough about me...how’ve you been?”

“How...have I been?” John huffs out a breath. “Blimey...I don’t actually know.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve been...fine, I suppose.” The doctor raises and lowers his shoulder indecisively. “Nothing to complain about.”

Adam wears a youthful smirk. “Any romance lately? Last we talked, you had gotten with-”

“Wow, we _really_ don’t have a professional relationship, do we?” John snorts. “How’d we even get on that topic _last_ time?”

“You were bloody gloating.”

“Gosh, have I really changed so much in a month’s time?”

“I dunno, what’s happened this past month?”

_Started nappying my flatmate and snogging him in between doing that_. 

“Uh...I’ve just...gotten more...serious, I guess.” John tries not to sound suspiciously vague. “I’ve taken on a bit of responsibility.”

“The hell does that mean?”

John only shrugs in response. “Wish I damn knew.”

Adam just smirks and shakes his head. “Silly.”

Being called ‘silly’ makes John think of Sherlock, the detective likes to call him that. As if Adam was reading his mind, he then asks about Sherlock as he puts his hat back alright. 

“That sleuthing flatmate of yours doing well?”

“He’s fine.” John says quickly, fast enough that Adam picks up on it. 

“You...sure?”

“Yup, he’s fine.” John nods. “How about I take my stethoscope and get a listen to those lungs?”

“Don’t bother, they sound like I’m a bleeding _drowning_ victim or something. Like I’ve inhaled a gallon of pond water.” Adam shakes his head. 

“I _have_ to examine you.” John holds a hand, palm upward. “There’s not point in coming to the hospital just to chat.”

“I’ve already told you, it makes me feel better.” Adam sighs. “But, if you don’t want to talk, I suppose I _am_ wasting your time.”

“No, no...” John glances at his watch. It _was_ later than he thought it’d be. “Wait...why are you here so late?”

“What?”

“I usually see you earlier in the day, what’s made you come in late?” John asks. 

“Oh, I’ve uh, got more classes this semester and-”

“Adam, we talked about this.”

“Don’t start bloody-”

“You need a lighter work load if you’re going to be having the treatments.”

But-”

“No,” John took on a stern voice, one he’s been using on Sherlock...well, when he needs to. “Those treatments take a tole on your body, you can’t apply yourself to too much work. You should really be resting.”

“Who knows how much time I have left, Doctor Watson!” Adam exclaims. “I can’t fuck around and slack off!”

“You’re not effing about and slacking off.” John choses to censor himself, just a little bit. “You are doing this so you _can_ go to school later on, when you’re better.”

“Screw that.” Adam folds his arms. “I don’t know how much time I have left, I’m not going to spend it laying in bed.”

“I’m not saying you have to lay in bed, but taking more than one or two classes at a time? I bet you are.”

“I’m taking four.”

“You can’t _do_ that.” John stands up. “Come to my office, I’m going to write a note for your administrator, your advisor or someone. I can’t let you overwork yourself and-”

“Doctor Watson, you’re not my damn parent! I can take care of myself, and I _want_ to do this!”

That hits John hard. Not...his parent. He knows he’s not, of course he’s not. His instinct to care for someone, to protect them even, has really increased. Adam is his patient and John did want what's best for him. But, the boy he really wanted to be taking care of was back at Baker Street without him. He misses Sherlock even more now. 

“I know, I _know_ that I’m not your parent.” John is still standing. “But, you _are_ my patient, and this is just a suggestion. I’m going to write you a note to your school, and give this to whoever you deem fit, if you might need a lighter workload...or _something_. Excused absences? Whatever. Just, let me do this. As a doctor, a friend. Something.”

Adam looks at John for a while before sighing. He gets up, and allows himself to be led. Once they were in John’s office, Adam seemed already out of breath. There’s no way that he should be scrambling around a university campus trying to make it to four classes when he can barely travel down a hall without feeling tired. 

The patient sits on the opposite side of John’s desk, he taps his fingers on its surface as John pulls out some sort of form from a manila folder. He signs and dates it before he begins writing in the large box. 

Adam watches John scrawl a message, not really reading what John’s writing. He’s watching the way he does it. The glides of his hand, the crossed t’s and the dotted i’s. His evergreen eyes float to the dinosaur on John’s desk. 

“You like dinosaurs?” Adam wants to pick it up, but he knows better than to touch other people’s things. 

“Hm?” John’s not listening. 

“What kind of dinosaur is this, do you know?” He points to it, John’s eyes follow the pointed finger. 

“Oh, it’s a...damn, I knew this...” John wracks his brain. “Oh! Plateosaurus.” 

“Whoa, doc. You know your shit.” Adam is impressed. Stubborn, curious, observant and wowed by John’s minuscule amount of knowledge. Adam definitely reminds John of Sherlock. 

“Nah, _Sherlock_ knows his shit.” John replies before he can stop himself. Quickly, he thinks of a coverup before Adam begins asking questions. “Sherlock has given it to me as a joke, because he says I’m old enough to have ‘walked amongst them’.” 

_Nice save, John_. The doctor hears Sherlock’s praise in his head. 

“That’s funny.” Adam gives a breathy chuckle, bringing out a brief coughing fit. 

“Here.” John hands the filled out form to Adam. “Just...if things get to be too much, please don’t hesitate to...hand this in to someone. Or give me a call, alright?”

“Yeah, thanks...”

“Please don’t stop your treatments?”

“Ok...”

John takes the stethoscope from around his neck. 

“Can I have a listen before you go?” John asks. 

Adam only nods and begins to unzip his coat.


	86. “We still friends?”

After dinner, Sherlock wanted attention. Lots of attention. He felt incredibly needy and small. Really, he was missing John and acting out because of it. As Mrs. Hudson cleaned up the few dishes from his meal, Sherlock stood at her side, whining. 

“Nana, stop. No clean.” Sherlock tried to bat the sponge from her hand, but she moved away quickly. 

“You stop that, Sherlock.” She speaks to him sternly. 

“Want bottle.” He tugs on her arm. “Please, now?”

“I’m almost finished, love.”

“No, now!” He whines, stomping his feet, bouncing in place. 

“You’ve just had dinner, you can’t be that hungry.”

Sherlock doesn’t say anything, but leans himself so his head is resting on her shoulder. “Nana...”

“Or, do you just want to comfort nurse?” Mrs. Hudson asks knowingly. “My youngest nephew, he was a breastfed boy. The chubbiest thing as a baby. Once he was a toddler, he had become a big brother. My sister was nursing the newborn, and though the toddler was eating solid foods,” Mrs. Hudson begins washing the next plastic dish. “He liked to nurse when he was upset, my sister called it ‘comfort nursing’ so...I think I understand.”

Sherlock doesn’t say anything, just scuffs the pad of his bare foot against the kitchen floor. “Want my daddy, now...” Sherlock doesn’t sound demanding when he says this, just terribly sad.

“I know, little one.” Mrs. Hudson coos sympathetically. “Do you think you can handle the task of starting to get your bottle ready? I can feed you quicker if you do have the work.”

He’s just a little boy, he’s not supposed to have to make his bottles. Sherlock grumbles and drops himself to the floor. 

“Fine then, you’re going to have to wait longer.” Mrs. Hudson shrugs. 

“Too little!” Sherlock shouts, as if yelling would get it through to Mrs. Hudson. Again, Sherlock wishes John were here. He’d never ask Sherlock to do something so big. Nor would he leave Sherlock whining in order to wash dishes. Sherlock always came _first_. Besides, weren’t grandmothers supposed to spoil the babies? Why was she being so...administrative? Is that the word?

Sherlock pushed himself onto his hands and knees, then crawled from the kitchen and into the living room where his dummy and My sat waiting. He snatched them both up, he fixed the dummy clip to his shirt and held My to his chest. 

My was worried, and the owl asked Sherlock where John was. 

“Dada work.” Sherlock replies, inserting the dummy into his mouth. “Dada leave Sherlock.” 

The owl expressed its concern. What if John didn’t come back?

“Dada has to come back, he needs Sherlock.” The boy tells his owl, trying to be brave himself. “Dada needs Sherlock, a-and Sherlock needs Dada.” He tells My. “So, Dada come back...” 

The owl doesn’t believe Sherlock, and that hurts the boy’s feelings. Of course, My was just speaking Sherlock’s true fears. So, the fact that he was getting upset with My, was just further proof that Sherlock was really just getting upset with himself. That he was upset with himself for doubting that John would return, that he would _want_ to return. 

Sherlock tossed the owl onto the floor beside him. 

“My is mean!” Sherlock scolded the snowy owl loudly. Mrs. Hudson glanced at him from the kitchen where she was measuring out the formula for Sherlock’s bottle. 

The little boy folded his arms angrily at My. But...that made the owl sad, the owl who was already feeling scared because Daddy wasn’t home. And, Sherlock knew that feeling...immediately, he regrets throwing his stuffed friend. So, the baby picks up his owl, kissing it on the beak. 

“I sorry, My.” Sherlock looks the owl in its eyes. “We still friends?” The boy asks. 

My is indifferent, feelings hurt. So, Sherlock cuddles the owl to further say sorry. And, My accepts it. Though, the owl still isn’t pleased with its mistreatment. 

Sherlock would like to continue working on mending their friendship, but...he feels sudden warmth surrounding his nappy area. He’s wetting himself, he hadn’t noticed that he’d needed to go and...well, he can’t stop it now. When he’s finished, he moves about a bit nervously and with slightly scared eyes, he looks at My. 

“What do I do, My?” Sherlock whispers so his Nana can’t hear him. “Should I tell Nana that I’m wet?” The boy can hear Nana shaking up his bottle in the kitchen, she’d bring it to him once it’s warm. 

My isn’t sure what to tell Sherlock, but the owl does mention that Sherlock shouldn’t sit in his wet nappy too long. The boy had just gotten over his previous rash, he wouldn’t like another. 

Sherlock sucks harder on his dummy, self soothing himself through this hard decision. Maybe...after the bottle, he’ll tell Nana that he’s wet. Because, the bottle would be lovely and warm, no sense in letting it go cold while he’s being changed. 

But, Sherlock was nervous to tell the older woman, because he wasn’t sure about being changed by her. Only his daddy had been the one to change him previously. He was a bit shy, and a bit nervous. 

“Sherlock?” Mrs. Hudson called after a few moments. 

“Yes?” The boy lisps from behind his dummy. 

“Ready for your bottle?” Mrs. Hudson is shaking up the heated bottle of formula. Sherlock really does want it. He can imagine the warm liquid soothing him now. His eyelids feel heavy at the very idea. He remembers that he hasn’t had a nap yet today, he will probably fall asleep during the feeding. 

However, he doesn’t say anything more on the subject. As his Nana comes into the living room, and makes her way to the couch, the baby stands up, nappy full between his legs, so he toddles a bit more as he moves to join her.


	87. Grow Fonder

There’s nothing wrong with missing someone...someone that, you’re _used_ to having around. Someone who is a constant in your life. It’s just fine to miss someone who is _yours_ , anyway. That makes them a part of you. 

There’s a saying that goes: “Absence makes the heart grow fonder”, and yes. It is true. For, as along as his son has been away from him...his heart has grown fond, very fond. 

So fond in fact, that it’s given him unbearable heartache. His longing to be reunited with his baby has grown tremendously. Would his boy still be a baby anymore? Children _do_ age, everything ages. And...well, that just won’t do. No. 

Daddy is missing a baby, a _baby_. So, if...when he finds his boy, and he’s no longer a baby...well, Daddy will just have to fix that, won’t he? He’ll have to remind him how to be a baby. That shouldn’t be hard. Children do _so_ like to play pretend. 

Earlier, Daddy caught a glimpse of his boy. He seemed to be quite big, and...that just won’t do. It won’t do at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene wasn't from John's point of view...
> 
> This was the POV from our lovely Mystery Man...!


	88. Feels Like Eons

“John, love...he’s been asleep for an hour.” Mrs. Hudson giggles quietly from her flat. Sherlock is upstairs, still sleeping on the couch by himself. John’s just called her, to check on Sherlock. He’d tried to resist calling either of them at all. But, he felt sudden worry and had to contact them. He opted for calling Mrs. Hudson, just incase calling Sherlock directly would be too much for either of them. 

“He’s napping?” John asks. “Has he been crying a lot?”

“He gave me a bit of fuss before his nap, but I think he was just tired.”

“Has he wet?”

“Oh, I haven’t checked.” Mrs. Hudson admits. “When he wakes, I’ll check.”

“If he hasn’t, you should ask him to try.” John clears his throat. “Sometimes he holds it and-”

“John, dear...aren’t you at work?” Mrs. Hudson interrupts. 

“My god, I’m so bored.” John wipes a hand over his face. “And, I miss you all.”

“We miss you too, John.” The woman assures him. “We can’t wait for you to return...it’s just been a few hours, mind you.”

“It feels like eons.” John sighs. “What are you doing while he sleeps?”

“Just cooking.”

“He’d like to join you for that.” John smiles, remembering how lovely Sherlock looked in the kitchen making their breakfast earlier. “He loves to cook.”

“Does he?” She sounds shocked. “My word, I’d never imagine him cooking.”

“Me either, really. Not until last night, when he told me he really enjoyed doing so, and he made the most splendid breakfast today. You would’ve absolutely swooned, he made-” 

“ _John, Ms. Bleu is here to see you, follow up appointment.”_ Sarah’s voice says over the paging system of his office phone. 

“Right.” John replies, then sighs into his mobile. “Mrs. Hudson, help.”

“Can’t love, welcome back to the real world I’m afraid.” The older woman giggles teasingly. 

“Oh, quiet...” John chuckles, glancing at the dinosaur on his desk. He reaches a hand out to run over the slightly textured ‘skin’ it has. “I’ll see you both soon. Give him lots of hugs and kisses for me when he wakes.”

“I will, bye-bye!”

“Bye.”


	89. Very Safe

When Sherlock woke up, alone...he felt panic run through him. 

“Dada?” He called into the empty flat. “Dada!” His call became more insistent. He's forgotten that John's at work. And, though the sofa wasn't a _bed_ , he remembers Daddy telling him he isn’t to get out of bed when he wakes up, without asking permission first. Bed or not, he wants his daddy to tell him it's alright to get up, he doesn't want Daddy to think he's being naughty. “Dada, I’d like to get up now, please! Please?” The fear is heavy and cold in his chest, in his tummy. He feels weighed down by the emotion. “Please? Dada...I-”

“Where’d that pesky ‘Dada’ of yours go off to?” 

Sherlock gasps when he hears an unfamiliar voice across the room. It’s too dark with nightfall to see the person clearly. The voice isn’t very deep, but...it has an unfamiliar accent, unfamiliar voice entirely. Sherlock feels far too small to even try to _pretend_ to be big. He feels afraid, vulnerable. 

“Dada?” Sherlock calls again. 

“No one can hear you, don’t be afraid though. I won’t hurt you, no...I’d never.” The voice replies, it’s getting closer. “Why would I want to hurt _my_ boy?”

“W-what?” Sherlock’s voice is wavering closer to his big voice, as he has the urge to correct the stranger. He wasn’t the stranger’s boy, he is John’s. 

“No, no...that’s not what little boys sound like.” The stranger sounds even closer now. “I don’t like that, I’ll have to ask you not to do that again.”

“I want my dada now, please...” Sherlock curls himself more into ball, watching the shadowy figure continue to approach. _Be big, be big! This man is a threat, I need to get up, turn on a light, deduce! Stop this!_ Sherlock is screaming inside, but he can’t force himself to move. He feels sick to his stomach with fear. 

“Don’t worry, Sherlock.” The voice replies. “I’m here, Daddy is here.”

“You’re not my-” Sherlock is about to reply when the light turns on, and Mrs. Hudson appears in front of him. He begins to breathe heavily, eyes wide, he trembling. 

“Oh, poor dear...you’ve had a bad dream?” She coos, sitting on the sofa. “You’re sweating, oh...love.” 

Sherlock wants to ask what’s just happened...if anyone had been in the flat. It didn’t feel like a dream, but it must’ve been, because the flat is empty, Sherlock can’t even _smell_ an intruder. He still feels sick to his stomach, and he bolts into a seated position as he gags once, and then again. 

“Sherlock! Oh, goodness. Hold on, hold on!” Mrs. Hudson runs to the kitchen, goes under the sink where they store a bucket. The bucket is usually for filling with water for mopping. It’ll be fine to use for this as well. 

Sherlock’s body is still shaking, and he’s whimpering pathetically. His ‘big’ self is wading through his currently useless panic stricken brain, trying to make it to the surface. When he finally reaches it, Sherlock stops gasping for air, and he takes the bucket from Mrs. Hudson, and sits it in front of him. 

“There was a man...” He manages to say, blinking through his watering eyes. “He...called himself my daddy, but he wasn’t.” Sherlock shakes his head. “He was here...in this flat, did you see him?”

“Did I...” Mrs. Hudson looks around the room. “I was downstairs, love...but I can guarantee you no one was here. I switched on the light, there was only you. Though, you were calling out for your dada...I tried shaking you, but you ended up waking on your own.”

“Wait...you were here for that?”

“Yes, when you started calling for your dada, I came upstairs very quickly.”

“So...I was talking to no one, it was definitely a dream?” Sherlock’s stomach begins to settle. “I’m safe?”

“You’re very safe, pet.” She sits down next to him. “Is your tummy alright?” 

“I still feel nauseous.” He shakes his head again. The curly haired man feels a soft, warm hand beginning to rub circles on his slowly calming stomach. “I’m sorry...if I frightened you.”

“It’s just fine, I’m glad you’re alright.”

“No...I mean it...I’m sorry.” His lower lip wobbles. “I’m such trouble, always, Nana.” His voice begins to slip. 

“Oh, love.” She picks up his dummy that’s still clipped to him, and she presses it to his lips. He’s not fully slipped yet, but he begins self soothing right away anyhow. 

“My _emotions_ , Nana.” Sherlock suddenly says. 

“What...what about them?”

“They’re controlling me.” He growls, it’s strange to hear someone speak such serious words, garbled by a dummy in their mouth. “I used to be able to control them. I’ve let myself stop doing that. I need to get back in control.”

“How do we do that?”

“No, not _we_.” Sherlock feels her hand move away as he says that. “This is _me_ , this is internal...I’ve got to cut certain ties...I need to focus on...on...”

“On what?”

“Oh!” He exclaims, dummy falling from his lips. “Work!”

“Huh?”

“I need to work! _Clients_ , Mrs. Hudson.” He jumps up to his feet, pulling Mrs. Hudson up to her feet as well. “Brilliant!”

“I suppose so.” Mrs. Hudson isn’t sure what’s happening, so she asks. “What on Earth is going on, Sherlock?”

“You’ve been a great babysitter, well...not great, but you’ve done well.”

“That certainly didn’t sound like a compliment, but I’ll take it. Thank you.” She teases. 

“You did well, there are just a few things we need to discuss.” He lets go of her. “For now, I need to stop being little.”

“Aw, but it was such fun. I love what an adorable little boy you are.” The woman pouts. 

“My apologies, but I really need to get some work going.” Sherlock looks down at his attire. “I need some ‘big’ clothes as well. Also, um...Mrs. Hudson, before you cease babysitting me for tonight, might you change my nappy?”

“Are you wet?”

“Obviously, otherwise I wouldn’t need to be changed.”

She folds her arms. “I only change _little_ boy’s nappies.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes, though he shouldn’t have been surprised by the older woman’s response. However, being little would help make the nappy change less awkward. 

“Please, Nana?” Sherlock’s voice has become a bit more little.

“Please _what_ , baby?” She asks, pretending not to know. This angers ‘big’ Sherlock, who is still dwelling near the surface, not yet slipped away. 

“Please, nappy?” He tugs at the waist band of his cotton shorts. 

“Something wrong with your nappy?” She giggles, knowing she’s just pushing his buttons now. 

“You’re going to make me say it?” Sherlock’s voice no longer sounds even a bit small. “Now, that’s just cruel.”

“Sorry, I thought there was a little boy here a moment ago?”

Sherlock even laughs now, this entire situation is ridiculous. But, he plays along.

“Nana,” Sherlock tries to get back into his little space. “Did a wee.” He informs the woman as he picks up My from the sofa. 

“You’re wet, love? Let’s go get you changed.” Mrs. Hudson walks around to the other side of the coffee table, where Sherlock’s nappy back resides. “C’mon, baby.”


	90. Get to Work

Mrs. Hudson _did_ seem to know what she’s doing. Sherlock laid very still, dummy in his mouth, My held to his chest. He was little, but not little enough not to be aware that this is _Mrs. Hudson_ changing him...and she was not only _not John_ , but also that she was seeing him exposed in this way. She’d seen him naked before, once when Sherlock thought no one was home at all and he was walking about nude. That was...awkward enough. But, seeing him exposed like _this_ was different. This was up close and she was going to be cleaning him there. He tried hard to stay little as she began cleaning, cold wipe passing over his bits. She was humming and he focused on that. He brought his knees to his chest when she moved to clean his bum. It was over quickly enough. 

When she was finished, Sherlock asked to get dressed himself. The woman left the room, and Sherlock set to dressing himself. He chose a pair of pants, pajama bottoms and a plain tshirt. He grabbed a dressing gown from off of a hanger and...there. He was Sherlock Holmes again. Not, little Sherlock. Though, he did feel unsure about not wearing a nappy. He didn’t want to have an accident. But, wearing a nappy wouldn’t help him out right now. He needed to be entirely big. 

“Right,” Sherlock looks around the room. “Let’s get to work.”

~*~

Using all of the clues, to make sense of his current status, Sherlock gathered that...he was spending too much time being little. Though, he was enjoying it throughly, maybe it was time to put his little side to rest for a while. He’d never had the opportunity to be little every day. And, before when he used to suppress his little side, there weren’t any strange feelings for John, nor was he at constant battle with his little side trying to take over. 

That could only mean one thing: his little side was the cause of this, and had to be put to rest. He’d only have little time with John when he was at his emotional limit, like before, like...at the start of this age play with John. He’d reached his limit, and John helped him to release those emotions and feel safe again. 

Everything will be simpler once his little side is put away. He wouldn’t be so emotionally vulnerable, nor would he be so attached to John. And...speaking of John...Sherlock should...do something about that. Tell John that...he doesn’t want to be his anymore. That feeling was just a result of opening himself up emotionally to John. He doesn’t actually want to be his...correct? That’s just a side effect. 

But, telling John that he didn’t want to be his anymore would hurt him. So, Sherlock will just have to slowly push John away again. Push him to a safe distance, the way they used to be. It’d have to be subtle, a very subtle change. Or, John would end up very, _very_ hurt. The first step of Sherlock’s plan, would be to bury them both in work...so it would be unnoticeable that Sherlock was distancing them. _This is going to be so difficult, so tedious._ Sherlock sighs as he returns emails to clients. 

He filled a good portion of their afternoon with client visits. He also planned to discuss their ‘mystery client’ who visited Mrs. Hudson the other day, when the doctor got home from work. 

Until then, Sherlock began putting away his little items and tidying the living room. His dummies and My were the hardest things to put away. Part of him was confused as to why his little side needed to go away. John had allowed it, enjoyed it even. And...Sherlock had been the happiest he’d been in a long, long time. But, so many things weren’t making sense right now, and his emotions were taking too much control. So, to remedy that, Sherlock was putting away the complicating factors.  It was going to make things better, and he _knew_ that. 

To keep himself from doubting his decision, he continued exploring the melody that he couldn’t get out of his head. It wasn’t coming as easily to him as before, because the melody was sprung from some of the feelings he’d been experiencing these past few days. But, he forced himself to keep playing anyway. Keeping his mind busy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is panicking so much, I feel so bad for him. He does still want to be with John, and he does still want to have regular little time as well. Calm down, Sherlock! You're human and you have emotions, AND you have feelings for John. Suppressing either of those things won't make them go away sorryyyyy. 
> 
> I think he's also scared that his emotions are the cause of the 'dream' about the 'stranger' and that scared him, so he wants to get back in control of himself due to that as well.


	91. Proud

Things hadn’t gone well with Sarah. Their friendly conversation about John possibly attending the charity dinner, resulted in Sarah crying on John’s should about how much she’d missed him. John hadn’t actually thought she’d miss him that much. After...almost getting her killed and, there were a few things that John thought had sworn Sarah off of him. It seemed that everyone had a lot of emotions inside of them at this point. Are people really all so fragile? It seems so. 

John apologized several times to Sarah, avoiding answering her question of ‘why not’. Somehow, he made it without having to answer that. He fled the hospital and quickly headed home. 

~*~

The first thing John experienced as he entered the black front door of 221B, was the sound of violin coming from upstairs. John was tired and tense after work, not to mention the issue with Sarah. Really, he just wanted to see Sherlock. He gladly entered their flat with the dinosaur under his arm. 

“Oh, John.” Sherlock stops playing as the door opens. John sees the detective holding the violin under his chin, his perfect playing posture admirable as always. The doctor also sees that Sherlock is dressed in silk pajama bottoms and a plain tshirt, no cartoony science or math references. On top of that, he’s wearing one of his dressing gowns. He looks very Sherlockian. 

John glances around the flat, it’s been picked up. All of the things on the coffee table are neatly set, nothing on the floor around it. The desk area was also neatened, their laptops resting closed on the desk’s surface. Sherlock’s stack of documents, and John’s newspapers folded and tidy. No more empty tea mugs seen sitting about. Their chairs were perfectly parallel. Sherlock’s had been skewed slightly to one side for a while. The things on the mantle were also straightened up. 

“Mrs. Hudson’s been cleaning?” John turned and walked into the entryway to the kitchen. He put his hands on his hips. Sherlock’s science equipment was still on the counters, but in fine rows. None of the petri dishes were covered in...substances. They were all cleaned, and drying on a paper towel. So, Sherlock must’ve just sterilized them. The microscope wasn’t on the kitchen table, but on the counter as well. The table was clear, and it was sanitary enough to eat off of, that’s a first. Lastly, there were no dishes in the sink. 

“Wow,” John comments. “You were little, and just let Mrs. H run ramped, then?”

Sherlock sets his violin back into its place. But, he doesn’t say anything. 

John moves further into the kitchen and opens a cabinet.“Even the clean dishes are _put away_.” He says in disbelief. “I was going to give her a bit of money just for watching you, but... _this_ , I’ll have to give her extra for.”

“Hm, if you pay her for this, then she and I will have to split the money.” Sherlock says as he walks across the living room, entering the kitchen after John.

“Why’s that?”

“I did the living room, we worked on the kitchen together.” Sherlock stands with his hands behind his back. “Even the fridge.”

“ _Wow_ , even the fridge?” John moves to it, opening it. “I only see _food_ , well, what little food we have. And, my god. It actually _smells_ clean.”

“Thorough work, she and I did.” Sherlock confirms.

“I should really have her babysit you more often, the flat would be spotless always.” John jokes, still examining the fridge. “Where are your, um, experiments?”

“In the drawer, we tossed out the ones I didn’t need.” Sherlock explains. “So, you find this all satisfactory?”

“Yes, of _course_ I do. I wasn’t expecting it, but it’s lovely to come home to a nice clean flat.” John finally closes the refrigerator door. “So, where have your little clothes gone?”

“Check my nappy.” Sherlock keeps his hands behind his back.

“That...doesn’t really answer my question, but alright.” John says as he makes his way over. “Are you wet?”

Sherlock doesn’t respond, just watches as John approached. When the doctor is close, he extends a gentle hand, expecting to feel the padding of a thick nappy. However, he felt nothing...well, not _nothing_ but-

“You’re not...wearing one?” John asks, quickly taking his hand away from Sherlock’s crotch. The detective shakes his head. “Why not? Are you...taking another break from being little?”

“Yes.” Sherlock finally says something. 

“Why...are you ok?”

“I’m only taking a break for tonight, don’t worry.” The detective is lying, or so he hopes. He wants to stop being little, for a while. Inside, he knows he should communicate with John. If he’s having any trouble finding his footing...as a person, big or little...it’s important to communicate to someone so involved, as John is. But, he knows he’ll give in to John, should John tell him not to worry, and to do whatever would make him happiest. Being little and close to John emotionally and physically would make him happiest. But, he doesn’t know why that is, and it makes him far too vulnerable, so that just isn’t an option. John frowns. 

“Only a day?” John repeats. “You scared me, Sherlock. I thought it would be for a long time. You should’ve bloody started with that then.”

“I just like to startle you, John.” Sherlock forces a smirk, it’s what he would do if he _was_ only trying to startle the doctor. So, he does it.

“Clear off, you.” John folds his arms, taking a taller stance. “So, what’s going on? Why no littleness tonight?”

“Mrs. Hudson has made you dinner, since you haven’t eaten yet.” 

“I’m looking forward to it.” John nods. “I’m hungry, yes. But, what does that have to do with you not being little?”

“Well, I...” Sherlock quickly thinks of something that would appeal to John, something that is also very much the truth. “On our short holiday, I was always in a nappy. And, you brought it to my attention that it’s hard for you to be intimate with me while there are any traces of little me around.”

“Yeah? But...I thought we agreed to save intimacy for when we’re both ready?” John asks. “We haven’t even discussed-”

“I’m not doing this for intimacy, let me finish, John.”

“Sorry, continue.”

“Well, I just realized that I haven’t really spent any time with you...since we’ve started having little time. Completely as an adult. I’ve always had a nappy underneath my clothes, a dummy in my pocket.” Sherlock is looking down as he speaks. “And, I...would like to have some time, as an adult with you.”

John blinks, though he doesn’t say anything. He’s...stunned, to say the least.

_Good, he’s bought it..and it_ ** _is_** _true. This is good, very good._ Sherlock thinks, then continues speaking.

“I know you may think that I’m blind to what is happening between us...the closeness. I’m not, I’m not blind to _that_. I’m just blind to what it all means it seems.” Sherlock chuckles a bit ruefully. “That being said, I think it would be best for us to spend some time together just being us. I’d...like to get to know you, John. As you are, like this. Just plain old John. Because, I _know_ you, yes. I have for years. But, I feel that you have a lot more to offer me than I’d ever previously thought, and it’d mean a lot if-”

Sherlock is pulled into John’s arms, held there tightly against him. The younger man isn’t sure what to do at first, but his arms slowly find themselves around John in return. 

_This is_ ** _not_** _cutting ties, this is not distancing myself from him. But, this is going to have to be a weaning process for us both. Just play along._ The detective coaches himself through this. 

“So you would like to spend time with me as well?” Sherlock asks, holding John still. He feels content in this embrace, more so than he’d like. Can he even keep his distance anymore? If not, why? If so, he better work on it harder than this.

“Please, yes.” John nods into Sherlock’s chest. “Let’s spend time together.”

“Good.” The younger smiles. “Also, I did something you may be proud of me for.”

“You’ve cleaned the flat, _and_ you’ve grown up tonight for me.” John reminds him. “I’m _already_ proud. But, what more have you done?”

“Hacked into your email.”

“I...can’t say I’m proud about that.” John teases at first, but then he gets worried. Has he seen the email from Sarah? Why doesn’t he sound upset about it. “Did...you find anything, um, interesting?”

“Well, it’s the email that goes along with your blog.” Sherlock says, and John tries not to sigh loudly with relief. The email that goes to his blog is _not_ the one that Sarah had messaged him with. _Thank god._

“Oh...well, you didn’t change my blog up did you?” John gets a bit worried again. “You didn’t change my ‘about me’ to something insane or...?”

“No, I pretended to be you via email, and I booked us client visits for tomorrow.”

“You...did what?” John is grinning, and he pulls back from the hug to look at Sherlock to see if he’s lying. “You got us clients?”

“Well, _you_ got them. I just confirmed their meetings for tomorrow late morning and afternoon. We’ve got a few, hopefully at least _one_ of them has an interesting case.”

“You’ve set us up with work!” John exclaims. “That’s brilliant, Sherlock!”

“Why are you so excited?” Sherlock tries not to sound horribly confused, but he is a bit caught off guard by John’s outburst. The work was really Sherlock’s way of distracting himself from littleness, and from John. He didn’t know that John would be so supportive of this at all. 

“You _knew_ I’d be proud!”

“But not this damn thrilled.” Sherlock blushes. “Why are you so excited?”

“This, Sherlock! Bloody _this_!” John’s voice cracks as he exclaims again. “You’re willing to do work, to take on cases. _And_ , you’re deciding when you want to be big or little. _Balance_ , Sherlock! We’ve talked about trying to find balance, and you just took a huge step!”

Sherlock blinks like he doesn’t understand still. 

“Balance, you idiot! Fucking _balance_!” John reaches up to tap Sherlock on the forehead, like he should’ve had a V8. 

The younger gasps, eyes widening and mouth opening. 

“Oh!” Sherlock says, mirroring John’s enthusiasm. “Yes!” _No wonder John’s so happy_. _Sherlock hadn’t even thought about the whole balance thing, though now that he is, this whole idea does seem quite smart._

“Yes!” John nods enthusiastically. “Hell yes!”

“I’ve done well!” Sherlock’s enthusiasm is real now. He puts his hands on John’s shoulders. “I didn’t think about the balance. I just thought you’d like to get back to doing work with clients because you enjoyed it. I hadn’t thought that-” He tries to keep his coverup story going, just incase John might start to get suspicious, but John interrupts it.

“Sherlock Holmes! Not bloody thinking! Unheard of!”

“Hush, John.” Sherlock gives a chuckle and they both take a deep breath so they can stop excitedly squawking at each other. “Oh, there’s another thing.”

“There’s more?”

“Not...so much more _exciting_ things. But, I was wondering if you’d mind if I asked Mrs. Hudson some questions during your dinner, while we’re down there.”

“Why are you interrogating Mrs. Hudson?”

“I want to ask her about the man with the missing son.” Sherlock runs a hand over his curls. “I want to ask her specific things about him, what he looks like, how he carries himself... _anything_. I don’t want to wait around for him to come back, who knows when he might?” This was the truth.

“You’re really bothered by that, aren’t you?” John frowns. 

“Are you not?”

“I am, but...I mean, it _really_ bothers you.” 

“...Yes.”

“Well, of course I don’t mind you asking Mrs. H some questions while I eat.” John glances over to their desk where his notepad resigns. “I’ll take notes. 

“No, you just eat. I’ll remember everything I need to know.”

“Remember when you said ‘I like when you take notes, John. It seems like you always collect data from a different perspective. That is quite helpful.’ Hm?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“So, I’m taking notes. Got it?”

Sherlock sighs, trying to seem annoyed that his doctor knows him so well.

“Yes, John.”


	92. Life-Size Doll

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello!
> 
> Chapters 83-92!  
> This update is around 12K words, and it's not quite all that I wanted it to be.  
> However, that just motivates me to do better for the next update. 
> 
> 221B is going to have some visitors, Sherlock is *actually* going to be enjoying his detective work again, and John is going to expose another side of himself to Sherlock...just a bit though. Also, I don't know yet, but hopefully one of those visitors coming to 221B is Mycroft. I feel that he's overdue. 
> 
> Thanks for reading,  
> See you all in the next one!
> 
> ~TJL

Sherlock refused to sit, and he paced the small kitchen as he asked his questions. John took notes between feeding himself his dinner. He still felt mentally exhausted from work, but this _was_ interesting. 

“So, he was short, dark haired, his eyes were colored similarly.” Sherlock repeats the quite general information he was given. “That’s all fine, but I need more specific data. His _accent_ , hand gestures, his stride. Did you see his mobile phone, the brand of it? Was it well taken care of, or fairly damaged?”

“He looked around quite a bit, not around the me or the entry way. But, the street. He kept looking towards the street. He didn’t have too many hand gestures.” The older woman was sitting opposite of John, who was taking notes, fork still in his mouth. 

“How did he speak?” Sherlock has prayer hands up to his cupid’s bow. _God_ , it felt good to be really using his brain again. He doesn’t see why he fought this so before, going out to the crime scene with John and Lestrade. Well, he _did_ see, if he really thought about it. But, he didn’t want to apply to much thought there. 

In his head, Sherlock was creating this ‘mystery man’ in his mind palace. It was like he was creating a life-size doll, fitting on the eyes, the hair. Currently, the doll wasn’t very much, not yet humanized completely. 

“What did he sound like, his voice?” Sherlock is keeping his eyes on this man he’s creating. They’re staring at each other. 

“His voice...very soft, gentle. Incredibly friendly.” Mrs. Hudson says. “A bit bittersweet, like he was trying to sound positive. But, it was clear that there was sadness beneath it, because...of his son.”

The creation in his mind palace was moving its mouth now, it’s still too much of a rough draft to have very specific facial movements. But, the mouth is forming the words ‘my son’, Sherlock can read them clearly. 

“His accent? Was he from London?” Sherlock has stopped moving in the ‘real world’ as he’s slipping into his mind palace. The version of himself in his mind palace is the one moving now, circling the mystery man, studying him. 

“Not from London, but very distinctly from elsewhere.” Mrs. Hudson looks up at the unmoving Sherlock. “Irish, I think.”

“Irish?” Sherlock repeats. “Why, why...?” His mind is backtracking, because the mention of an Irish accent reminds him of something...someone. _Who_?

“Sherlock?” John raises a brow, looking up at the detective. “What’s on your mind?” The younger doesn’t answer, so John goes back to eating. He hums as he remembers something. “Earlier, the driver who brought us back from the stone house, he had a kinda funny accent. Irish, I mean...well I think.”

“What?” Sherlock still doesn’t move, his back is currently facing gum. 

“Our driver.” John repeats, clearing his throat. “Accent, sounded pretty Irish to me.” He confirms. “Dublin, I believe.”

“Interesting.” Sherlock comes out of his mind palace enough to turn to John. “What else do you remember about him?”

“Oh no,” John shakes his head. “You told me that I was wasting time by questioning our drivers.” He rolls his eyes, teasingly. “Don’t be so interested now.”

“No time for being a smart arse, John.” Sherlock walks closer. “Tell me.”

“Why does it matter? Our driver couldn’t possibly be the same person as the man who visited Mrs. Hudson this morning...how could our potential client magically work for Mycroft as well?”

“I don’t _know_ , but the similarities are all I have to go on.”

“Fine.” John takes a deep breath as he thinks. “He was a pretty small guy...not that I have much room to talk in the height department. Mind you, I’ve not seen him standing before, but he seemed pretty short.”

“What else?”

“His hair was dark, yes. But, I couldn’t see most of his face, sun glasses.” John shrugs. 

“Anything specific...something we haven’t mentioned?” Sherlock eyes John.

“He...was...” John shrugs. “I don’t know! I only spoke when him for a few damn seconds.”

“ _Think_ , John.” Sherlock stares down at the doctor. 

“He...um,” John is _trying_ , but what could he have gathered that quickly that could be _useful_?

“Anything you remember about him at all?” Sherlock’s hands are still in front of his cupid’s bow, his multicolored eyes alight with curiosity. 

“No! Sherlock, I’m telling you he...” John sighs, eyes rolling. “I mean, he was chewing gum if that makes any bloody difference, I doubt it but-”

“Oh! The man I met today was chewing gum as well.” Mrs. Hudson exclaims. 

The man in Sherlock’s mind palace is a bit more concrete now, Sherlock can hear him mumbling some soft of sob story about his missing son. It’s very softly spoking, and for some reason it’s monotoned. Like he doesn’t mean it, or doesn’t care. Even when John had told him the story earlier, while Sherlock was cooking, the detective didn’t believe for a second that the man had actually cared about his missing child. And _that_ , that there...made Sherlock remember where he too had heard a soft spoken Irish accent. 

“While you were away, John...” Sherlock begins. “I had a dream, or at least...it seemed like a dream, I’m not sure. But, a shadowy figure, with an accent such as the stranger Mrs. Hudson spoke to, and the driver of our van.”

“What?” John’s brow furrows. “Why would the person in your dream...speak with a similar accent? Maybe you heard the man speaking earlier...and recreated him?”

“No, no...I paid little attention to that man. Why would I dream about him?” Sherlock waved a hand. “The thing is, though...the man in my dream kept saying I was his child.”

John frowned harder at this. “He...did?” The older man asks, as he angrily took down that note. 

“Yes...in a way that made it seem like...” Sherlock felt his littleness coming closer to the surface. “Like he wanted to take me away from you.”

The littleness must’ve been audible in his voice, because John’s demeanor changed quickly from: protective, possessive, concerned. It turned to: ‘don’t worry, I’m here’ and John was about to rise from his seat, but Sherlock put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. 

“I’m alright.” Sherlock assured him, though he wasn’t...not entirely. He was scared, quite a bit. If it hadn’t been a dream, that means that...whoever this person was...somehow broke into their flat, visited Mrs. Hudson this morning, and drove them back to 221B today. Whoever it was, should these things be true...they must’ve been watching them from afar for quite some time...to be able to come into contact so many times in one day fluidly, without being detected...not even by Mycroft, as a threat. 

_Mycroft, that’s a good place to start_. Sherlock thinks. 

“This is important, this is a code red.” Sherlock says, moving to the kitchen the window. “We’re mostly likely being watched, very carefully.” He says, voice hushed. “Mycroft is so bent on keeping a bloody eye on us, how could he let this happen?”

“This man isn’t coming at us with his teeth bared.” John shrugs. “He hadn’t seemed like a threat, so he flew under Mycroft’s radar easily.”

“He broke into our flat!” Sherlock retorts, turning to John. “How can you be so calm?? He wants _me_ , John!”

“Every criminal we’ve encountered more or less has wanted you!” John returns the harsh tone. “I’m sorry, but it’s true!”

“You told me earlier, that if your boy was missing, you’d be unable to rest!”

“ _My_ boy isn’t missing!” John raises his hands. “You’re not even my boy right now!”

Sherlock is silenced now, eyes away from John. Mrs. Hudson has a hand over her mouth, to keep from jumping into their quibble. 

“I’m sorry.” John finally speaks. “I’m just...I’m tired...and I just wanted to spend time with you tonight, and...just...being away at work, away from _you_ was hard. And, I didn’t think I’d come home to _more_ work...I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s...fine really.” Sherlock clears his throat. “Um, what you, uh...said, wasn’t out of line.” He is still avoiding John’s eyes. “You’re absolutely right, I shouldn’t have expected you to work on this...after you’ve worked so long today.”

“I would usually be up for it, I’m even enjoying this now...so, I don’t know why I lashed out and-”

“I said it’s fine.” Sherlock says quickly. “We should head upstairs, let Mrs. Hudson get some rest.” He turns to the older woman. “Thank you for taking care of me tonight, Nana -- Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock corrects himself. “It was interesting, to be in someone other than John’s care, and it was quite nice. Goodnight.” He leans down to hug her. “Also, don’t worry about...this mystery man. Don’t open the outside door to any strangers tomorrow.”

“Yeah, don’t answer for any strangers. Sherlock and I will handle the door, we have clients coming in.” John nods. 

“Yes, and...you should be safe tonight.” Sherlock confirms. “There’s no reason why he should show up again.”

“How do you know?” John asks, but he’s not answered, Sherlock is already moving out of Mrs. Hudson’s flat and up to theirs, quickly. The doctor looks at Mrs. Hudson.

“Do you _really_ think we’re all talking about the same man?” Mrs. Hudson holds a hand to her face. “It all could just be a coincidence.”

“It very well could be.” John reaches across the table to hold her free hand. “Sherlock and I will figure it out, we always do it seems. Well, _he_ always does.”

“He couldn’t do it without you, no matter what he says.” She giggles, and John smiles at her kind words. 

“I suppose you’re right, but...he probably could do it without me.” John shrugs. “That doesn’t mean I’m not happy to be here.”

“Hm.” Mrs. Hudson nods, hums. 

“He was fine to babysit, though?”

“Just fine, indeed.” She grins. “Such a sweet thing, fussy though.”

“Yup, that sounds like him.”

“One wet nappy, one short kip.” Mrs. Hudson relays. “Dinner, a bottle of formula after.” 

“Dinner _and_ a bottle?” John is surprised. “I was worried that he wouldn’t feed well, but he took quite a lot tonight.”

“Yeah, he did.” She confirms, still smiling. Contented by the good news about Sherlock’s stay with the older woman, John gets up from the table.

“Thanks for dinner, I’m going to head up.” He says. “I _need_ to rest up a bit, if Sherlock is going to be wound up about this mystery man for much longer.” 

“Well, good luck, John dear.”


	93. Deleted Scene: Comfort Nursing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The scene that takes place between chapter 86 & 87! :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello!
> 
> You guys!! I'm so dumb!!  
> I forgot to post this chapter along with the previous update!
> 
> Really, I don't know how it got separated from the others. But this chapter is supposed to happen between chapters 86 & 87!
> 
> I was going to try and wedge it in somehow, but, I didn't want it to be missed.   
> So, have a 'deleted scene' because I'm such an idiot xD !!
> 
> This scene DID happen, this isn't like the 'bonus chapter' I did a while ago.   
> Alright, see you all in the actual next update. 
> 
> ~TJL

Mrs. Hudson watches as Sherlock toddles over, owl held to his front, dummy in his mouth. 

“What would you like to do after the bottle, dear?” She asks, Sherlock doesn’t reply. 

_Mrs. Hudson, I don’t want to think about the future, I want to be in the ‘now’ that is why I’m little. Because, it_ ** _allows me_** _to be able to stop thinking so much_. Sherlock sighs internally. He enjoyed Mrs. Hudson’s company, but she was no John. No one else _could_ be, and he knew that. Still, he was glad that he’d chosen Mrs. H over Mycroft for a babysitter. Maybe he’d try Mycroft next time, just for the sake of trying him out. Pushing his buttons even. 

“Come here, you.” Mrs. Hudson opens her arms. The baby lays himself into them, still suckling his dummy, eyes already shutting with tiredness. “Sweet baby, rest now.” She takes the boy’s dummy, his brow furrows at this and he reaches out reflexively to clasp a hand to his nana’s shirt. 

“Dummy, please?” Sherlock whines. Mrs. Hudson passes the bottle’s nipple over Sherlock’s mouth. 

“How about some nice warm formula instead?” She murmurs, rocking Sherlock gently as she feeds him. He suckles extremely contently, making soft nursing noises as he does so. The sweet, warm formula soothes him completely, and he’s unable to even try to open his eyes. But, after a few moments of nursing he pushes the nipple from his mouth. “Finished already?”

The baby shakes his head and begins to whimper, lower lip trembling. 

“What’s wrong?” Mrs. Hudson is unsure whether to feel alarmed or not. She couldn’t imagine what could be wrong, he was so content literally seconds ago. “Can you tell Nana?” 

He either can’t, or choses not to use his words. It seems more so like he can’t, he forms several syllables, but no complete words. Has he regressed that far or is he just overly tired?

His hands are extended out in front of him, towards the other end of the sofa. There, rested a throw blanket. Mrs. Hudson blinks at it a few times before leaning to grab it. As best she can, she drapes it over Sherlock’s long body. 

Immediately, the baby stops whining from displeasure. His whine now, is one of want. He’d like his bottle back now, his lips parting and closing, hands kneading at Mrs. Hudson’s blouse to get her attention. 

“I know, I know.” She replies to the actions. She brings the bottle back to his lips and he latches on, sighing sweetly as he begins to nurse. Mrs. Hudson looks down at him, the person she’s known for quite some time now. 

After he’d help the woman with the case about her husband, they hadn’t seen each other too fairly often, Sherlock liked to keep himself busy. Though, when he wanted a flat, he came to her straight away.

When he’d first looked at 221B, alone, she noticed that he seemed to be putting on an act. Something about his bold characteristics were dimmed a bit. He looked about the flat and asked to have a moment to think. Mrs. Hudson granted him that, went to her own flat. And, when she came back, he was sitting in the chair, that is now his. 

He informed her that he’d have the flat, but not alone. There was someone who he was sure would make a good flatmate. Still, the other man would have to come and see the flat for himself. As he and Mrs. Hudson discussed the rent, and few ‘rules’ that Sherlock didn’t plan to follow, she noticed that he seemed grateful for having a flatmate. 

Even though Sherlock confessed to not knowing the other gentleman long, he kept saying ‘not living alone’, ‘won’t be living alone’, ‘not alone’ and...he seemed so much smaller than his normal self when he said those things. She knew then that Sherlock had exposed himself, had shown his fear of being by himself...feeling alone. 

She’d wanted to tell him then, that he was never alone, flatmate or not. But, she knew it wouldn’t bring him comfort and he wouldn’t believe her. At least now, she can help take care of him _really_. More than just giving him kind words. 

Now, she had him across her lap, with him allowing her to nourish him. Clean him. And, darn if he isn’t the cutest thing you’d ever want to see. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, again! XD <3


	94. Looking Back: Sherlock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello!
> 
> Today's chapters are 94-96!  
> My computer is broken, therefor I am broken.  
> I tried gathering files from it, but not much success. So, I lost the bit of this story that I was working on. 
> 
> While I rewrite it, have a few chapters. I'm so sorry that I've been away so long. I just don't have anything to write on at the moment. Well, /barely/ anything to write on. 
> 
> So sorry for the wait, and I'm sorry that there is going to be a bit more time between updates. I hope you all can understand!
> 
> ~TJL

_I always remember feeling small. I remember feeling incomplete when I didn’t have enough attention. I remember feeling complete when I had it. Even as a child, I wanted to be babied. Because I was the youngest, attention wasn’t hard for me to acquire. Often, I got away with wanting to sit in someone’s lap, being held for a few minutes longer if I ever cried, pointing to things I wanted and making sounds instead of words. But, it was never enough. There always came a time when I had to ‘grow up’._

_Growing up was never an easy task, because my anxiety would strangle me and shrink me back down until I was tiny. Even the simplest of independent tasks were difficult. Answering the home telephone, telling the waitress what I wanted when the family ate at a restaurant. I nearly came to tears of fear and frustration many times when these tasks arose._

_But, being little was my safe-place, was my escape. It's when I felt the most confident, the most care free. And, as a child, I got away with it. Mycroft would let me babble to him, until he became annoyed with it. Once he was annoyed, he let me lay my head in his lap while he read and he pet my curls, it was one of the most enjoyable things I can remember._

_My parents used to ask me to stop sucking my thumb, which was a comfort-habit that I kept from my infant years. I really do have an oral fixation. Trying to please my parents, I stopped sucking my thumb. Instead of sucking my thumb, I’d begun chewing pen caps, the sleeves of my shirts or jackets. Most things ended up eventually in my mouth. This habit actually annoyed_ _ **me** _ _._

_As I got older, I tried to force myself to stop ‘pretending’ to be little. I told myself that it was a childish game to play, so I stopped the babbling, and I tried to be more brave. Faking it worked most of the time, but still...I didn’t feel complete. The only time I felt whole, was when I was with Grandmama. She called me by sweet names, didn’t scold me if I slipped up and began sucking my thumb. She didn’t mind that I had anxiety about certain things. Grandmama always listened to whatever I had to say, and she never made me feel dumb._

_When she passed away, I lost my biggest support. I didn’t feel complete after that for a long time, and...soon after that, Mycroft, my second biggest support, went off to university. And...that’s when the cigarettes began. It pleased the habit of putting things in my mouth, and it also gave me the boost of stimulation that I wanted, what with Mycroft gone to engage me in mental combat. I had continued studying everything, gaining all the knowledge that I could. I was preparing myself to one day too, go off to university. Which, frightened and excited me all at once._

_University was a hell of an experience. Lost my virginity, which wasn’t the only innocence that I left behind. That’s also where I was introduced to drugs. And...sadly, before John, my drugging years were the most complete I’d felt in a long time. The drugs were incredible. I felt invincible, always, when I was high. I felt stimulated, I felt care free. Everything was bright lights, pretty colors. I didn’t even care that I’d failed out of university. Hell, I didn’t care about anything, really._

_Though, I didn’t really think about the fact that...outside of university, drugs weren’t available to me via another classmate, which was far less dangerous than going directly to a dealer. Which, I ended up doing anyway. I woke up one day to find myself in the middle of a drughouse, reeking of BO and vomit. Apparently I’d been there for a month, too high to even really notice my surroundings. I stayed there for a while. Didn’t have any money, so I used my toxin-riddled mind to win bets or to gamble, my winnings going towards or **being** drugs. This went on for two years.  _

_After those two years passed, the drug house got (finally) discovered by the police, only because of the loud gun fire that was ringing out between two of the druggies. The shooting and the police sirens were enough to get everyone to bail. Everyone but me, I was too sated to even bother getting up. And, maybe if I went to jail, maybe I’d finally get a god damn shower, some solitude._

_So, I watched as the police burst through the doors. The first ones scoping out the area, the others moving to the two dead bodies on the floor. Another one approached me, thinking that I was dead as well. A hand poked and prodded at me until I blearily swatted it away._

_“Not dead.” I groaned, startling the woman who was examining me. She shrieked and several cocked guns were soon pointed at me. “Calm down, I am not gonna do an’thing.”_

_“Put your guns down.” I heard a man say, as he moved through the crowd of officers. When he finally appeared in front of me, his eyes widened. “Bleeding hell, look at this guy.” He chuckled. “Not dead? You sure as hell smell like it, mate. How long you been in here?”_

_“Piss off, help me up.”_

_“No, stay down.” The man points at me. “I’m Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade, and I’m going to give you two options.”_

_I stay silent, only listening._

_“I can arrest you for drug use and possession.” He says. “Or, I can put you into rehab.”_

_Both options sound unsatisfactory, but getting arrested sounds less dull._

_“Take me to jail, then.” I shrug. “I will sleep until then.” I curl up, body already shaking with need for the next fix._

_“You_ _**honestly** _ _want me to arrest you??” Lestrade’s eyebrows go up._

_“Sir,” An office interrupts. “There is a third body in the other room. Choked on their own bile, looks like.”_

_“Wrong.” I grumble, holding my malnourished frame, trembling._

_“I’m sorry?”_ _The office frowns in confusion._

_“Take me to the body let me see it.” I demand, extending my hand towards Lestrade because he is closest. He seems unconvinced, but after more demanding, he helps me up, practically carrying me to the other room. I deduce the person's cause of death in as much detail as I can manage, and I impress the DI. He praises me endlessly, and I...feel small. I feel an odd mix of prideful and terrified. My little self is wandering at the surface for the first time in a long time. He doesn’t understand why he’s in a dark smelly drug house, why he’s been alone for so long. Nothing here is soft, friendly, or inviting. He really wants to be clean and comfortable. He is hungry, he is nauseous. And, I begin to cry suddenly, with such force that my thin body collapses again to the floor. Everyone is staring at me._

_Lestrade doesn’t know what to do, and all of the other people in the musty dark house are looking at the DI, waiting for him to do something. What he does next surprised the lot of us. He pets my head, and tells me to take deep even breaths until my crying subsided_ _._

~*~ 

_I allowed the DI to get me set up with rehab, but...not before telling Mycroft of my whereabouts. Brother had been off becoming someone important, but, he wasn’t important enough to keep tabs on me the way he does now. He’d found out that I’d failed from my university. He had no idea where I was until I called him form the rehabilitation clinic. For the first time in a long time, I heard him break down into sobs. Belly-deep sobs, and that tore me apart more than anything. When he could finally speak again, he asked me how I got to where I was. I skipped the lengthy history of my drug use. I instead told him that I'd been staying with Lestrade for a few days._

_I’d been going through withdrawal the whole three days before I’d arrived at the rehab center, when I’d been staying with the DI. Lestrade had stayed up with me those three nights. He helped bathe me the first night I stayed with him. The second night, he stayed up with me while I expelled my stomach contents and tremored on the floor in a ball. The third night, he held me when I cried. I don’t know what made the DI take such a liking to me, to go as far as caring for me like this. I thanked him constantly._

_Mycroft arrived after my first awful night in the rehab center. He brought me some things from our childhood home, that he thought might bring me comfort. A few of my old favorite books, a throw blanket that smelled like our comfortable living room and...My! Mycroft brought me my owl! He...knew that I loved it._

_He chuckled at the way my eyes lit up for the first time in years. I snatched My excitedly from my brother, and I kissed the owl shamelessly. I tried to stay big, though my littleness was nearly bursting from me. I held the owl tighter than I’d ever held anything. The rest of rehab was better, thanks to My. Still rehab was hell._

_I couldn’t keep any food down for a long time, my body expelled all of the toxins. Even the things that weren’t toxins. I tried to spend most of it in my mind palace, but everything was hectic even there, and the structure was crumbling. I focused on rebuilding my mind palace. By the time the palace was reconstructed, I was ready to leave the rehabilitation center. Lestrade came to see me ‘graduate’...it was nice, I cried again when I saw him. I thanked him a million times._

_And with my life back to my usual ‘unstable’ normal, I went wherever I could, ‘solved mysteries’ for money. That went on for a few years, in between then, I met the woman with whom I had my little time. I felt very complete, but only when I was with her. She disappeared, and I stopped trying with people. The only person I associated with on a regular basis besides Mycroft was Lestrade. And then...John came into my life._


	95. The Lie on his Breath

When John got back up to their flat, Sherlock was typing quickly on his laptop. Whatever he was writing, it was lengthy. John closed the door, eyes still on Sherlock. 

“What are you writing?” John asked, he imagined it to be an entry for the detective’s own blog. 

“Email.” Is the younger’s response. 

“Oh...” John pauses a bit. “For...? Or,  _to who_ , rather?”

“Mycroft.”

“Oh.” John says again. “Why not text him?”

“Typing all of this on my mobile would be annoying.” Is the explanation. “The laptop’s keyboard is more accurate. Also, I won’t need to worry about the text being multiple pages.”

“Ah.” John nods, moving to the sofa to sit, toeing off his shoes. He listens to the constant clack of the laptop for a while. Really, he  _does_  try to not to say anything. But...he can’t just remain silent. “What happened to ‘spending time getting to know me’ tonight?”

“Hm?” Sherlock had tuned the doctor out already, for multiple reasons.

“After that email, can you come over here?” John brings his feet up onto the sofa. “You’ve not even kissed me since I got home, you said you wanted to ‘do kisses’ when I got back...and I’m  _back_.” He feels a bit silly for being so needy for Sherlock’s attention, for his affection. But, he’s tired and tense and just really wants his Sherlock right now. Big or little. 

“John, no time for kissing. We’ve got a  _case_.” Sherlock states, even though the case isn’t the only reason why he’s in no hurry to go to the sofa. He’s also trying to distance himself from John, he hasn’t forgotten about that.

“We’ve not got anything.” John debates. “We just have coincidences."

“Every similarity is spawned from a concrete connection.”

“How do you know?”

“Facts, John.” Sherlock stops typing in order to read what he’d written. Absentmindedly, he brings his thumb to his lips. He traces the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip. After a couple read-throughs, Sherlock sends the email and closes his laptop. He  _really_  wants to suck his thumb, or his dummy. He wants the extra bit of comfort, and he can’t allow himself to. Internally, that frustrated him and he wanted to whine. “Are you ready to sleep?” He asks John to keep his brain focused on other things.

“ _Sleep_?” John snorts. “No, it’s not even late.”

“Early bed, early rise.” Sherlock shrugs. 

“You’re trying to get rid of me.”

“What?” Sherlock tries to sound shocked that John would even  _suggest_  such a-

“I know you better than anyone.” John stands up and crosses the room to his friend, folding his arms. “What’s going on?”

“John.” Sherlock stands up as well, grateful for their height difference yet again. He hopes his ‘towering’ over John would make the doctor stand down. But, John is a  _soldier_  and inside he’s skyscrapers taller than Sherlock. “There is  _nothing_  going on.”

“Lying to me?” John arches a brow. 

“What could possibly be going on?”

“You weren’t excited to see me when I came home, nor do you want to kiss me.”

“I’m just a bit tired.”

“When you’re sleepy, you suck your thumb.”

“Not always.”

“Fine,” John nods. “Maybe that explains the lack of excitement, but why no kisses?”

“Bad breath.” Sherlock says quickly. 

“That’s a lie.” John’s response is quick.

“Rude, John.” Sherlock puts on a frown. “Why would I lie?”

“Lie or not, even if it  _was_  bad, I’d still kiss you.” John states. “I don’t mind.”

“Well...I  _do_.” Sherlock insists. 

“Lemme smell.” John is stepping closer. 

“Let you  _what_?” The younger can feel his face heating up, even though he doesn’t want it to. 

“I want to smell your breath.”

“Why the hell would you-”

“I’m a doctor. Depending on how bad it is,” John begins. “It might be a true bacterial problem. We’ll have to send you to a dentist and have them perform a-”

“It’s not a medical condition!”

“Well, if you let me smell, I could tell you for sure.”

“You know  _damn well_  that I don’t have a medical condition, you’re just being a right tit, John.”

“Would you prefer me to be a left one?” John gives his lame joke, and Sherlock is laughing now. However, the younger stops laughing when he feels John’s hands on his shoulders. The doctor raises himself onto his toes, so that his face is level with Sherlock’s. 

“What are you-” He’s cut off by John audibly sniffing near his mouth. “Oh, for fu-”

“Not bad.” John lowers himself back down. “Sorry, looks like you have to kiss me, now.”

“But-”

“Nope, no excuses.”

“But, John I-”

“Why don’t you want to kiss me anymore?” John pouts. “You wanted to before I left...”

“I  _do_ , John.” Sherlock insists. “It’s just that, well...”

“Well?”

“Um...”

“Do you really...just not want to?” John sounds saddened. 

 _No, no, no! Don’t be sad, John..._ Sherlock feels pain in his heart and stomach when John’s entire body seems to sag with upset. 

“I do...!” Sherlock tries to come up with an excuse. “It’s just that-”

And then, the most glorious thing did happen.


	96. Thanking the Sky Pickles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello!
> 
> Chapters 94-96 :)
> 
> Eh, so these are the bits of the story I managed to save.  
> Lame, lame, lame. I'm going to have to redo the bit about the clients. 
> 
> I'm sorry for the short update, and I hope to post again ASAP.  
> Please don't hate me. 
> 
> Oh, and I had way too much fun naming this chapter, I know <3
> 
> Take care,  
> ~TJL

Sherlock’s mobile begins to ring from its charging place in the kitchen. 

 _Oh god, thank god, thank all of the gods!_  Sherlock sprints from the living room.  _Thank whatever or whoever gifted me with this bountiful distraction! Santa, the tooth fairy, the fucking floating pickle jar in the sky!_

Sherlock unplugs the mobile and all but knocks himself out with the force at which he slams the device to the ear. He didn’t even check the caller ID. 

“Sherlock Holmes.” The detective is out of breath because he sprinted into the room  _and_  because the excitement of the glorious distraction is squeezing the air out of his lungs. 

“Um...hello, are you alright?” The voice on the other end of the phone sounds concerned. “You’re out of breath and...if I’ve called you while you and John were-”

“ _Brother_!” Sherlock exclaims. “You like to talk a lot! Talk to me about all of the things!”

“What...things? Are you alright?”

“I’m so happy that you’ve called!” Sherlock tries to contain himself, it’s not working. “So, what’s new?”

“My god, you’re  _high_.”

“What?” Sherlock stops exclaiming finally. “I am not.”

“Then what’s wrong with you?”

“Can’t I just miss you?” Sherlock asks. 

“The only ones you miss are Grandmama and Redbeard.” Mycroft reminds him. “Oh, and John when he’s away...not that you always notice when he’s not there.”

“Low blow, don’t bring up my canine friend and Grandmama.” Sherlock scolds. “You know better.”

“Yes, sorry.”

“Anyway, why have you called?” Sherlock sits down at the kitchen table. “Is it about our plans this weekend?”

“No, those might have to be held off.” Mycroft sighs. “It depends.”

“Why?”

“There’s been a murder.”

“Oh! Lovely!” Sherlock is  _beaming_. “You’re just full of brilliant news this evening! Our plans might have to be canceled,  _and_  someone is dead! Spectacular, Mycroft.”

“Sherlock-”

“So, who’s dead?”

“The driver of you and John’s van.”

“The one from today or the previous driver?”

“Previous.” Mycroft confirms. “He was a good man, it’s unfortunate.”

“You  _care_?” Sherlock raises his eyebrows. “Sentiment, brother?”

“Hardly.” Mycroft tries to firm up. “He was just a good driver, is all.”

“Who murdered him?

“Surely, the man who took his place and drove you and John home today.” Mycroft snickers. “ _Really_ , Sherlock, that should’ve been obvious.”

“I’m a bit off, sorry.” Sherlock actually  _apologizes_. “After all of this age play, I got out of the habit of thinking very...efficiently, if that’s the word.” The younger brother sighs. “It’ll get better though, I’m ending the little time for a while.”

“What?” Mycroft stops looking through the file on his desk. “Why?”

“I...just said why.”

“There’s more to it than that.” Mycroft says knowingly. “Are you alright?”

Sherlock feels himself begin to slip.  _No I’m not alright. My emotions, I’m feeling too much. How do I be like you, brother? It seems though, even_ _ **you**_ _are giving in to human nature. Is this just my fate? Am I to be like every one else? Subject myself to love and loss? All of that pain? It’s all **more hurt than good**._

“I’m fine.” Sherlock answers his brother’s question with a lie. Right now, he wants his daddy, he  _really_  wants to be held. “Send me the victim’s information and the case file. Also, send me whatever you can gather about the man who did it. We have reason to believe that he came to the flat  _and_  he visited with Mrs. Hudson today.”

“Yes...” Mycroft can hear the thickness in his brother’s voice. “That’s all in the email you sent me. That  _is_  what I called you for.” He pauses. “I’m surprised that you’ve been answering my phone calls.”

“Yes.”

“There’s not much I can gather on the man who drove you and John today.” Mycroft adds. “He was wearing gloves, so no finger prints. Couldn’t find any hairs in the vehicle either. We have shoe prints, but...not much there, the shoe’s must’ve been new. The only dirt from them, that made it into the van, was from the pavement of the lot the vehicle was parked.”

“Pity,” Sherlock says distantly. “Goodbye.”

“I’ve upped your security status,” Mycroft informs him. “We’ll keep an eye out for anything suspicious. Still, do be careful. Please.”

“Good, thanks.”

Mycroft takes a breath. “If...you’re  _not_  alright, we can talk about-”

Sherlock hangs up on him then. Mycroft doesn’t call back, though the older brother wants to. The detective doesn’t move his eyes to the living room, where he knows he would see John looking back at him. 

“So...the driver from yesterday is...” John clears his throat. 

“Yeah.”

“That mystery man killed him?”

“Seems that way.” Sherlock still sounds incredibly distant. 

“Sherlock...”

“Hm?”

“I would  _really_  love it,” John pauses and takes a breath. “If you just bloody told me what was wrong. Why is that so hard for you?”

“Nothing is wrong.”

“Whatever, fine.” John is sitting on the sofa, fingernails digging into his palms. “Of  _course_  there’s nothing wrong!”

Sherlock is tuning John out again. He feels like he is a million miles away by now. John’s still talking, Sherlock wishes he wasn’t. 

The detective is standing up, he’s walking down the hall. 

“Where are you going?” John spits, though he tries to stay calm. Getting frustrated with Sherlock wouldn’t get him anywhere. 

“Bedroom.”

“Why?”

“Why does it matter?” Sherlock asks. 

“You going to bed...?”

“No, John.” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “I need to be alone, I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Whatever.” John sighs.

Sherlock closes the door behind him. 

“When you get back, can we can talk?” John calls, he’s not responded to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this update is kinda uneventful, I'm so mad that I lost the next few parts!  
> Ugh, :P
> 
> The next update, John tries something new, there are clients, and other stuff!  
> I'm going to rewrite it and post it ASAP :)


	97. Imagine That

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello!
> 
> I'm so sorry that all of this is taking so long. Here's the first portion that I retyped!  
> I have more to retype, but since I don't have a computer it's soooo much slower and I'm so annoyed about that!  
> There are a few more retyped chapters that I'm going to post ASAP. 
> 
> Today, enjoy chapters 97-100
> 
> And as Always,  
> Thanks for reading!  
> ~TJL

John thought that he could wait for Sherlock to come back. He thought that he could wait for Sherlock to gather himself, and return. John scolds himself mentally for even _thinking_ that Sherlock would do something reasonable for once. For a moment, he let himself believe that Sherlock was going to come out of his room, having calmed himself down. He imagined them sitting in their chairs, across from one another. Sherlock would tell John about the pain he was holding inside, the fear. John would move from his chair to Sherlock’s, letting the detective wrap his arms around his waist. He would pet Sherlock’s curls, soothe the younger until he was again calmed.

The older male imagined them…doing as Sherlock had said. He imagined them spending time getting to know each other, while they were both in the adult states. Sherlock would ask him embarrassing questions, only in hopes of making John blush, and for payback, John would do the same to him. He imagined them talking and laughing on the sofa, and then on the floor in front of the coffee table.

He imagined pulling Sherlock in for a kiss when the laughter died down to only silent eye contact. John allows himself to imagine the feeling of Sherlock’s plush bow-mouth against his own lips. He imagined them kissing until they lost track of time. John could see it in his mind, them making their way to Sherlock’s bedroom, the detective pushing the door closed with his foot, because his hands are worming themselves under John’s shirt, not for sexual reasons, only because he wants to feel John’s skin.

John imagines them laying on Sherlock’s bed, in each other’s space, breathing each other’s air. Sherlock would be breathing harder than John, because when Sherlock gives emotion, he gives double. He will be breathing hard because he’s let John pull all the air from his lungs, all the resistance from his body. That isn’t to say, that John wouldn’t be panting. John would be breathing raggedly as well. He would be breathless…because it would be _Sherlock Holmes_. Sherlock was the embodiment of everything that gave John life. The thrill, the shelter, the sense of _home_. Sherlock was his home.

Then, he imagined them falling asleep, held in each other’s arms. And, when they woke up, they’d smile at each other lazily, and kiss each other with morning breath. Maybe they’d shower together, sharing more groggy kisses there. Sherlock would let John make him breakfast, and eat it just to please him. Sherlock would tell John what he already knew about the clients while they ate. The brunette would predict how each of their client meetings would go, and he was going to be right.

When the clients would arrive, John would look on with as much amazement as the clients would, as Sherlock dished out his deductions, predictions and skillfully worded comments. Sherlock would dismiss the cases that he didn’t want, and takes the ones that he did. John would just be along for the ride, usually being the emotionally comforting one to the clients, causing Sherlock to roll his eyes and mutter ‘unnecessary, John’ but let it happen. And then, John would surprise Sherlock by adding a helpful comment or two where he could. Sherlock would look at John wide eyed for a split second before grinning and looking at the clients with an expression that read ‘John is an idiot, but he is far more tolerable than most, so I have kept him’. And _that_ would be Sherlock’s subtle (and client friendly) version of ‘I love you, John’.

John…could see all of that so clearly in his mind, because…that’s how things used to go. Besides the kissing, of course. But, they used to have that _rhythm_ , the balance. They’d learned how to live and work together, and they had such a strong connection that they could finish each other’s sentences, and read each other’s body language and facial expressions.

Before the age play, there was that strong connection, yes. But, there was also _so much distance_ between himself and Sherlock. They were usually arms length apart at least. And, Sherlock would stop whatever they were doing if too many emotions came into play. If their eye contact was held too long, Sherlock would clear his throat and clasp his hands behind his back before making a beeline to another location. Either that, or he’d drum up a strictly factual conversation that John couldn’t keep up with at all and give up on.

When the age play started, John couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe that Sherlock opened up to him so readily, that he allowed and trusted John to take care of every part of him. John was floored when Sherlock let John see his emotions, when he _gave_ his emotions to John. The fact that John got a lovely little boy as well, was a complete and very welcome surprise. That aspect of their relationship was something very special to John. He loved being Sherlock's daddy.

And, their romantic relationship, or whatever Sherlock would like to call it, that part…just…changed John. He didn’t feel like he was the same person as he was before he kissed Sherlock Holmes. Since he’d been baptized by Sherlock’s lips, John has felt that, officially, he was just simply John Watson. Kissing Sherlock was the final piece, that let John know that he could never be without Sherlock ever again. A large part of him had already known that. But, it was irreversibly true until John felt himself connect to Sherlock in that way.  He allowed himself to feel what he knew was always there…and it felt so good. All of the love that rushed through him.

And now, with Sherlock shutting him out…he felt hurt. It hurt, this hurts.

“It’s not fair, it’s not.” John stands up from the sofa, after giving up on waiting for Sherlock to come out of his room. “Sod this.” He leaves the living room and makes his way upstairs without calling ‘goodnight’ to Sherlock.

He probably wasn’t going to be able to sleep anyway.


	98. Big Brother to the Rescue

            Mycroft had been sitting with his hand pressed to his jaw for an hour. When that hour turned into two, he couldn’t take it anymore. This was too much. Something was wrong with Sherlock. If Sherlock eager too talk to _him_ , then that meant he wasn’t communicating with John. And, that meant he might hurt John…and that could very much mean that Sherlock was in danger. Sherlock without John was…as much as his younger brother wanted to pretend that being alone was safer, that it was protection…well, it wasn’t.

            The older Holmes brother knew better. He also knew that Sherlock wouldn’t be willing to accept the fact that he was faltering. Mycroft knew that Sherlock would rather shut himself down than admit defeat. _Unwise, Sherlock_. Mycroft thought as he got into his car. He made his way to 221B in the dark of night, in order to collect his fragile little brother.

~*~

            Mycroft arrived to 221B to find it very quiet, Mrs. Hudson was in front of the telly in her flat, he could hear it from the steps. As he climbed them, he could hear footsteps on the floor above, in John’s room. _They’ve already separated themselves then._ Mycroft thinks, _Oh, Sherlock_.

            Once he stepped inside the living room, he noticed how clean it was. Sherlock cleaned when he was younger, when he was so outrageously bored or upset. Mycroft sighed once again. He picked up the backpack from in front of the coffee table, the one that served as Sherlock’s nappy-bag. He peered inside, there was only one nappy in it, not enough to be safe.

            Mycroft carried the nappy-bag down the hall and into Sherlock’s room, he didn’t bother knocking. When he entered, he saw Sherlock curled into a ball on his bed, he could hear his brother sniffling.

            “Crying?” Mycroft asks, though he already knew the answer to the question. He only said it so Sherlock would be aware that he was there.

            Sherlock had heard the footsteps coming to his room, he knew they weren’t John’s. Though, he didn’t understand why they were Mycroft’s. He didn’t bother asking, and he didn’t feel up to responding.

            “You’re going to come with me, to my home.” Mycroft announced as he opens the door to Sherlock’s closet, in search of his nappies. “I’m going to see to it that…we get some things sorted out.”

            Again, Sherlock said nothing, but listened to Mycroft root about in the storage bin. He heard Mycroft click his tongue.

            “You’re running low on nappies, Sherlock.” Mycroft informed his brother. “We’ll have to get you some more, won’t we? I’ll have some sent to you tomorrow.” He took a few more nappies from the closet, and put them into Sherlock’s nappy bag. Inside, the nappy-bag were already things that Sherlock might need, besides bottles, which Mycroft would go to the kitchen for, after he gets Sherlock out of the bed.

            “Sherlock, you must come with me now.” Mycroft sits on the side of his brothers bed, rubbing at the younger’s back with a soothing hand. “I want to take care of you.” He is speaking as gently as he knows how. “I…know I’m not your daddy, but…I would like to try to, um, give you what you n-need.” This was hard for Mycroft, and Sherlock knew that he was trying. But, Sherlock…was afraid of what Mycroft might want to ‘sort out’. So, he stayed quiet.

            Mycroft’s soothing hand moved from Sherlock’s back to his curls. Sherlock gave no response, but he sniffled again. After a few moments of silence, Mycroft stood from the bed.

            “I’m going to go gather your bottles, then we will be off.” Mycroft leaves the room. When he’s gone, Sherlock sits up, chest rising and falling a bit harshly. He could feel his mind wavering between big and little. Sherlock didn’t want that, he wanted to stop being small. Should he hide? So that when Mycroft came back, he couldn’t take Sherlock with him? Would that work?

            Sherlock’s eyes darted around the room. Where could he hide? The room was too simplistic to even attempt hiding in. He could wedge himself in his closet, but…that would be too obvious. Sherlock couldn’t really fit under his bed, like he could John’s. And that left…no where to hide. He felt very frustrated.

            Why was Mycroft even here? He didn’t need him. He didn’t ask him to help.

            And…what about John? If Sherlock left now…what if John wasn’t here when Sherlock got back? How long was Mycroft planning to keep him anyway? Mycroft knows everything, he should know that Sherlock had clients tomorrow. He wouldn’t make Sherlock miss his clients, would he?

            A few minutes pass before Mycroft returns to the room, wearing Sherlock’s nappy-bag on his back. Mycroft with a backpack reminds Sherlock of when his brother left for university many years ago.

            “I’m glad to see you are sitting up, that’s a good step.” Mycroft says as he moves back to the closet bins once again. Sherlock watches him picking up something from the – _My_!

            Sherlock’s eyes widened as Mycroft picked up the owl. The younger brother outstretched his hands and made a small sound.

            “I’ll give you your snowy owl if you get on your shoes and coat.” Mycroft bargains. Sherlock eyes his brother annoyedly before pushing himself off the bed. The older brother too has already deduced that Sherlock is little, though he was already quite small when he arrived to the flat.

            After Sherlock had gone to his room, he had waited until John had gone up to his room before he began to cry. He dragged himself into bed and curled up there. He remained there for the next couple of hours before Mycroft came and got him.

            Under his brother’s watchful eyes, Sherlock pulled on his shoes.

            “I know you probably have a lot of questions.” Mycroft says as he holds up Sherlock’s coat. The younger lets Mycroft help him into it. “I will address those questions when you’re big again. We’re going to have some little time first, remove some of your stress, ok?”

            “John?” Sherlock finally says something, his voice small as he turns to face his brother. Mycroft takes on the task of gently buttoning Sherlock’s coat.

            “He will be perfectly fine.” Mycroft assures him. “The security is still very high, and he is off to bed.”

            “No leave?” Sherlock’s eyebrows come together.

            “What?” Mycroft’s brow furrows as well.

            “Sherlock come back,” The boy says. “Still have Daddy?”

            Mycroft’s heart hurts a bit at this. _Poor Sherlock_. Mycroft continues to frown apologetically at his little brother. _Poor, poor Sherlock_.

            The older steps forward, and wraps his arms around Sherlock. The curly haired boy is motionless at first, but he leans into the hold, face pressed into Mycroft’s neck where he can smell his brother’s familiar, expensive cologne.

            “John–um, _Daddy_   will be here when we get back.” Mycroft pets Sherlock’s curls for a moment before the hug makes Mycroft feel too emotional. He picks up the owl from the desk, hands it to his brother.

            “Thank you.” Little Sherlock says, holding the owl to his cheek.

            “Of course.” Mycroft smiles at him before taking out his own mobile phone. He sends a quick text to John then puts the phone away again. “Let’s go.”


	99. Confiscated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tiny chapter :)

John had just gotten into bed when he received a text message. He hoped and hoped that it was from Sherlock. When he picked up the device and read the new message, he sighed and rolls his eyes. The message read: **_I’ve confiscated something from your flat and I will return it tomorrow morning. Goodnight, Dr. Watson. MH_**

John wasn’t in the mood for games, though it seemed that all the Holmes brother knew how to do was play these damn games with him.

The doctor made his way down the stairs and into the living room, looking around curiously, trying to locate what could be missing. When he couldn’t tell what the missing item was, he ventured to Sherlock’s room. He knew that he was either to be ignored, or told to piss off. But, he hoped that the maybe Sherlock’s lust for curiosity would rouse him out of his sulk and he’d help John figure out what Mycroft has taken.

However, as he knocked on Sherlock’s door and go not answer…and as he opened the door, only to find no detective…it became quiet clear what – or _who_ Mycroft had nicked.


	100. Pity Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, Hello!
> 
> So, chapters 97-100. 
> 
> Not the longest update, and please trust that I've been working on this fic as often as possible.  
> Gosh, i miss my computer! Anyway, m'dears...what was I going to say, again?  
> Oh! Right, ok! I remember now, but, I'll say it in the 'more notes' sections. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapters and I'll speak with you all soon!  
> Love, TJL <3

            In the back of the awaiting black car, Sherlock sat beside his brother. Sherlock was holding his owl very closely, refusing to look at Mycroft. The little boy was still crying, softly. He was crying because he didn’t know what was going to happen at Brother’s house. He didn’t want to leave his daddy all by himself in 221B. What if Daddy found out that he was gone, and thought that meant Sherlock didn’t want him to be his daddy anymore? That thought scared him more than anything that Mycroft could possibly have in store for him, and he began crying harder. He didn’t care if the driver of this vehicle could hear him or not. However, Sherlock’s outburst of tears stirred up Mycroft, who seemed not to be concerned about the presence of the driver either.

            “Come now, Sherlock.” Mycroft was…new to this. He tried to remember what he did with Sherlock when the younger brother was actually an infant or child. Mycroft tried to remember what babies liked. “What’s bothering you, so?”

            “Want Dada.” Sherlock says in a terribly small, quiet voice.

            “I’m…sure you do.” Mycroft says, offering the boy a pet to his curls. “But, if you were in the flat, you wouldn’t be with your daddy now would you? You would’ve been in your room alone, having a cry.” The older brother says.

            Sherlock only continues his soft crying.

            “Also,” Mycroft continues. “I think that you wouldn’t have been telling John what was bothering you, anyhow. I believe you would’ve asked for your daddy’s attention, while you were little, so that you could feel safe. But, you wouldn’t have addressed the real problem.”

            And, _that_ last comment pulls Sherlock from his little side. Still sniffling, he glares at his brother. Mycroft notices the change immediately, and he works hard not to wear a smirk.

            “Welcome back, brother mine.” Mycroft turns away so he won’t have to look his brother in the eyes. There would be no way to hide his smug face if he looked at Sherlock now. “Lovely to see you.”

            “What the hell are you implying, Mycroft?” Sherlock demands his answer, baritone voice ever so serious. Perfectly so, and it’s enough to sober Mycroft into turning around to face him again.

            “Don’t pretend that you’ve already accepted your truth.” Mycroft returns Sherlock’s no-nonsense gaze.

            “Truth?”

            “Sherlock,” Mycroft sighs. “There is a great potential danger, I won’t have you and John Watson miscommunicating. Not now.”

            “What does mine and John’s communication have to do with this…..mystery man and my safety?”

            “Are you really so foolish?” Mycroft is frowning now.

            Sherlock only arches a brow at Mycroft tauntingly, urging him to continue.

            “John Watson cares about you, Sherlock.” The older brother begins. “He would do anything to keep you safe.”

            “I know that.” Sherlock spits. “And, I appreciate it more than you could ever know.”

            “Oh, do you?” Mycroft hisses, losing a bit of his Holmesian composure. “Then, why the _bleeding_ hell are you shutting him out?” He leans closer to his brother. “Sherlock Holmes, we do _not_ shut out John Watson.”

            Sherlock can smell Mycroft’s breath because of his brother’s proximity now. He can gather the scent of stale tea, even a hint of cinnamon. Sherlock knows that Mycroft dislikes nearly all things that have strong flavours of cinnamon, strong enough to leave that scent on his breath. However, Sherlock does _also_ know that the only thing cinnamon that Mycroft enjoys, is a particular sort of pastry. Sherlock feels like teasing his brother for clearly having indulged in sweets prior to his visit. Probably while he sat in his lavish home, on his lavish furniture, worrying about Sherlock. Stress eating. However, Mycroft was going through great lengths to try and help his brother right now. That much was clear, so…Sherlock spared him. Besides, he was the cause of Mycroft’s latest pastry binge. The younger brother stayed silent.

            “I pity you, Sherlock.” Mycroft looks away again, shaking his head. “But even more so, I pity John.”

            Sherlock eyes his brother, even though Mycroft has turned away again. He’s trying to deduce if Mycroft really means this or not. But…maybe this isn’t the place for deductions. Maybe this was time to trust, to be open and…stop trying to be so clever.

            “Pity us, why?” Sherlock asks, as he stops his deducing.

            “John had trust issues, he always has. All of his life.” Mycroft watches London fly by through the window. “It started when he was young, and never knowing what to expect with his family. His father drank, and it caused a lot of stress to his mother. She would have random emotional outbursts, and John never knew if he was going to be approaching her at a bad time or not. She’d go off on him, and then apologize afterwards, say she’ll never do it again.” Mycroft shook his head. “It kept happening though, of course. He stopped trusting his mother, little by little.”

            Sherlock didn’t want to imagine young John, with mistrust towards his mum. He didn’t want to imagine a John so small, and being yelled at by someone meant to protect and love him. He couldn’t imagine John feeling unsafe in his own home.

            “And, his _father_?” The older the brother gives a disgusted grunt. “That _animal_ , he would drink and become so violent. He would terrorize the entire household with his drunken yelling, and aggression.”

            Sherlock cringed as he imagined young John getting… _hit_ by a drunken idiot.

            “Of course, John’s mother tried to stop her husband, but that would only result in brawling between the two adults.” Mycroft pauses. “John would find a bit of comfort in his sister, Harriet. They would hide together in either of their bedrooms until the noise stopped downstairs. But, they’d still stay together for the rest of the night, because they were far too shaken up to be on their own.”

            _Harry was good for something, then_. Sherlock thinks. Lately, she’s just been disappointing John with broken promises of getting better with her alcohol addiction.

            “However, the older Harry got…the less she’d comfort John.” Mycroft continue. “When the yelling became too much, she’d join the yelling for a few moments then storm out of the house and going out with her ‘friends’ to get intoxicated.”

            “She…left John on his own in the middle of all that?” Sherlock’s heart sank.

            “Yes.”

            “How do you know all of this?”

            “Well,” Mycroft turns his head back towards Sherlock. “Do you want the truth?”

            “Obviously.”

            “I went snooping through his notes from his therapist.”

            “I knew that already.” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “John told me about the first time he met you, and you had known about his trust issues because you had been snooping into his therapist’s information about John.”

            “Right, then.”

            “Thank you for telling me about John.” Sherlock avoids eye contact when he says this. “But, why are you telling me, Mycroft?”

            “Because, Sherlock!” Mycroft raises his voice. “I don’t want you to be another person that breaks John’s trust! I don’t want you to shut him out!” His voice fills the small space of the vehicle. “John Watson has great difficulty trusting people, Sherlock! And, he trusts you more than _anyone_ on this Earth. Could you imagine what would happen if you continue shutting him out?”

            Sherlock doesn’t say anything.

            “John Watson will take it as putting himself on the line entirely, and you not being willing to do the same.” Mycroft says. “He’ll take that as a sign of mistrust, and he’ll begin to shut you out as well. And…after that, you might just lose him. Unfortunately, with John…he’s not really one to give second chances. For you, he might. But, third and fourth chances? He gave all those away to Harry, and he doesn’t seem to be giving anymore out for a while.”

            “But-“

            “Please don’t ruin this.” Mycroft sounds incredibly sincere. “Please don’t ruin what you and John have.’

            “What do John and I have?” Sherlock’s brow knits.

            “You’re so stupid, so _stupid_.” Mycroft looks up as the car drives them onto his property. “Let’s get inside.”

            “You’re not going to tell me about John and I?” Sherlock frowns harder. “What is _with_ that? Apparently, everyone fucking knows what is going on! Yet, no one wants to tell me! It’s ridiculous!”

            Mycroft hasn’t heard that particular profanity pass his brother’s lips in…quite some time. He isn’t sure if he should be amused or…worried.

            “Try not to be upset, brother mine.” Mycroft picks up Sherlock’s nappy bag when the car comes to a stop out front of his home. “Thank you, Anthea.”

            “Of course.” She replies from the driver’s seat. Sherlock had been surprised to see her behind the wheel. He hadn’t really thought to look and see who was driving him, though…giving the recent events, he should’ve checked. John would’ve.

            So…Anthea had heard him being little? Sherlock actually would’ve preferred it to be some nameless, faceless ‘stock’ driver. Not someone he’d be facing again in the future.

            “Goodnight.” Mycroft says to her as he exits the car. “Come along, Sherlock.”

            “Good luck.” Anthea says to both of them once Sherlock leaves the car as well. And then, she is gone, leaving the brothers alone.

            Mycroft turned to Sherlock to find that the detective is standing with his arms folded.

            “You’re unhappy.” Mycroft comments, walking up the stone path towards his front door, Sherlock at his heels.

            “No one is telling me about _this_.” Sherlock grumps. “It’s annoying and bloody stupid.”

            Mycroft unlocks the door, chuckling as he lets Sherlock in first.

            “It seems, brother,” Mycroft closes the door behind him. “No one wishes to tell you what you already know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to touch base about what's happening in the story as of late. :)
> 
> What's happening in the fic right now, if it's at all confusing, which I'm sure that it is:  
> *Mycroft is taking Sherlock to his home to take care of him  
> *Mycroft is going to (attempt and maybe succeed) in helping Sherlock understand/admit his feelings for John (as it's becoming an issue for Sherlock's own safety, because of pushing away John is highly dangerous to Sherlock's wellbeing and Mycroft does't want him to hurt himself or John)  
> *Sherlock is going to have some little time at Mycroft's to de-stress and all that, he'll also /finally/ 'clear out his system' (if you know what I mean, and Mycroft won't like that part)  
> *Then, Mycroft will return a (hopefully) clearer-minded and refreshed Sherlock to 221B so the detective and his John can see their clients
> 
> So, is it clearer now? The stuff with the Mystery Man will be further explained later! Ok? Ok!  
> TTFN


	101. Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello!
> 
> Have Chapters 101-105!
> 
> It's been far too long. Far, far, far too long. My goodness, I've missed this story.  
> I've still not gotten my new laptop. And, that's really just 'real life' stuff happening.  
> Please don't be angry? I'm trying. 
> 
> Also, thanks so much to everyone who's said kind words to me or asked how I was during my absence.  
> It means the world that you've checked on me. Really, it does help and it keeps me going. 
> 
> I'll update again ASAP. The next update will contain a few more sweet brotherly moments, and...the serious talk.  
> I'm excited for it! I've already gotten half of that update written, so it'll be up pretty soon.
> 
> As Always,  
> Thanks for reading!  
> ~TJL

          Sherlock had never been little in Mycroft’s house, it was intimidating at first because his house was so big. Sometimes 221B felt too big, and now _this_. It was almost overwhelming. The little boy needed something to hold on to. _Wow_ , he wanted John right now. Daddy would make sure he felt safe. For now, he had My and that was enough to keep him from crying. He tucked his owl under his chin as he followed his brother down the main corridor.

          They passed Mycroft’s study, library, and main living room. If Sherlock’s guess was right, they weren’t going to any of main parts of the house, because Mycroft used those for guests. And, right now, Sherlock wasn’t a guest. This visit was personal, and Mycroft was going to take him to the most personal part of the house.

          The younger brother sniffled softly, rubbing his face into the top of the owl’s head.

          “Are you alright?” Mycroft stops walking, letting Sherlock catch up. Mycroft hadn’t initially realized that he was walking ahead of his brother. But, Sherlock was taking smaller steps. He wasn’t bothered by walking behind Mycroft, not as he would be if he were big.

          “Like to follow.” Sherlock reminded his brother. He remembers John informing Mycroft that Sherlock liked to follow when he was small.

          “Oh…right.” Mycroft says when Sherlock’s caught up. “But, what if I’d like to hold your hand?”

          Sherlock stops beside his brother, looking at him with wide, light eyes. “Hands?” Sherlock looks down at Mycroft’s hand.

          “If you’d like.”

          Sherlock hesitates, feeling himself begin to teeter between big and small. This is because he’s having an internal battle about opening up to Mycroft. Especially physically. Holding his brother’s hand felt like a good place to start, if anywhere though.

          With a slow motion, Sherlock brings his hand to Mycroft’s and then Mycroft’s takes his loosely. Their fingers don’t lace, but the hold makes Sherlock feel safe, and incredibly small. Mycroft hasn’t held hands with his brother since Sherlock was a child.  

          “Alright?” Mycroft gives his brother’s hand a squeeze.

          “Yes.” Sherlock’s voice is tiny, but it’s…there’s something about Sherlock's tone that speaks volumes about how the boy is feeling. Though his voice is small, his voice is heavy, but not with sadness. Sherlock’s voice did shake, but not with fear.

          And, with that…Mycroft feels certain that he’s done something right. That bringing Sherlock hear will end In something good.


	102. Threshold

          Mycroft never allowed anyone here. No one.

          He didn’t like having other people here, because this is the only place that he feels like he can stop thinking. It doesn’t really fit in with the rest of his elegant home, and Mycroft doesn’t want it to.

          This room, Mycroft liked to call the den. It’s a very small room, and only consists of two large sofas with incredibly soft cushions. There’s a large area rug in the center of the room, and a desk in the corner of the room.  There are several bookshelves, and the books here are some of Mycroft’s most favorite. Many of them aren’t his usual informative books. Rather, books on different languages and cultures that he studied for fun in school. There are many novels, most of them mystery books from his youth. There are dictionaries, ones he highlighted and wrote in the margins with colored pencils when he was a boy. This room is full of things that comfort him.

          And, he’s brought Sherlock here, hoping that his little brother might find comfort here as well. Sherlock’s only been in this room two other times. Once, when Mycroft first acquired this home and he'd gave Sherlock a tour of it. Mycroft was yet to make this room into the den.

The other time Sherlock was here, the den had become Mycroft’s haven, for which no one else was to enter. That second time happened when Mycroft wasn’t home, and Sherlock…more or less broke into the residence, in order to sulk in this luxurious estate (mostly to eat Mycroft’s expensive ice cream and wallow nudely in some of the high thread count sheets). The older brother was quickly aware of Sherlock’s break in, and fled home in one of his cars.

          Upon arriving at his home, Mycroft stormed throughout the house, calling Sherlock’s name. He was shocked to find his brother in the den naked, covered haphazardly by an expensive white sheet and eating from a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream. Mycroft scolded Sherlock for what felt like a year, and complained that Sherlock was lactose intolerant and shouldn’t be eating his ice cream anyway. He also informed Sherlock that he was never allowed to enter the den again, especially naked.

          Now, though, Sherlock felt overwhelmed again. Because,  he’d been told to never enter this place. Yet…here he was, in his most vulnerable state and…being _invited_ to enter the den.

          When they arrived to the room, Sherlock’s feet cemented to the floor, right outside of the double sliding wooden doors. Mycroft stepped over the threshold, into the den. Sherlock remained outside of it.

          “It’s alright, you can come in.” Mycroft gives his brother’s hand a tug, but the little brother shakes his head rapidly.

          “Brother said no.”

          “Not now, I didn’t.” Mycroft insists. “You’re welcome here today.”

          Sherlock looked at his feet. “Owl too?”

          “What?”

          “Owl come in, too?” Sherlock continued to downcast his eyes.

          “Oh, yes.” Mycroft nods. “You may of course bring your stuffed friend into the den.”

          The boy looks down at his owl, then at the threshold. Sherlock makes a soft determined sound, before hopping over the threshold and into the den. He then says ‘ta-dah!’ in an enthusiastic whisper. Mycroft’s eyes widen, then crinkle in the corners as he genuinely laughs at the small…very cute, gesture.

          “Yes, well done.” Mycroft lets go of his brother’s hand now that they’re both – all _three_ of them (owl included) are in the den.

          “Well done.” Sherlock repeats, voice small. Immediately, off come his shoes, and he also drops his coat onto the floor, letting the lovely coat pool on top of his shoes. The little boy presses his now bare toes into the large area rug. “No shoes.” He announces.

          Mycroft’s instinct is to request that Sherlock not leave his coat on the floor. But, the older just picks it up himself. He drapes both of their coats onto the desk in the corner of the room. Mycroft turns to see his brother hopping about the pattern on the rug, sticking to only letting his feet touch the burgundy patches of the rug. He watches this happen for a while longer, before interrupting.

          “You’re already in your pajamas, but might I run and go put on mine?” Mycroft speaks up, and his brother turns to him.

          “Gotta stay on the red.” Sherlock points to the rug.

          “…Yes.” Mycroft isn’t sure what to say in return. “I’ll be right back, alright?”

          “Brother?” Sherlock pokes his lip out. “Stay.”

          “You can come with me if you want.” Mycroft doesn’t really…want that, but he’s willing to make sacrifices today.

          “No, Sherlock stay here.” The boy turns his back to his brother, feeling indifferent towards him for the time being.

          “You're sure?”

          “Yes.”

          “Don’t wander off, ok? I’ll only be gone a moment.”

          “Yes.” The little boy says again.

          Mycroft sighs, he has a feeling that Sherlock isn’t going to be in the room when he returns.


	103. Miscalculated the Distance

          Sherlock feels instantly lonely when his brother leaves. He hops across the rug, staying on the burgundy parts until he reaches the sofa where he flings himself. He lands with a soft ‘ _oof_ ’. Once he’s on the sofa, he lays on his back, looking up at the ceiling.

          “I’m being good, Daddy.” He says aloud, though he knows John isn’t there to hear him. “And, good boys get lots of kisses, right?”

          _Yes, they do._ He hears John’s voice, echoing in the corner of his mind somewhere. It startles him at first.

          “John?” He blinks, confusedly. He somewhat shifts out of his little state. He sits up quickly, looking around Mycroft’s den. He’s relieved to see that he’s not slipped into his mind palace entirely. His mind palace John has simply peeked out a bit. Sherlock shakes his head to clear it, focuses on returning his breathing from the small fast breaths that he was startled into.

          He looks around for his owl that he’s dropped in all of the excitement. My has fallen off the sofa, and onto the floor. Sherlock leans over the side to pick his snowy owl up.

          “Sorry, My.” He says, voice wavering between big and small. The owl lets Sherlock know that he’s forgiven. Then, the owl asks Sherlock where they are. “Brother’s house, this is the den. And…and usually, Brother doesn’t let me in here.”

          My exclaims at how cool it is that Sherlock’s been let in here.

          “I know!” Sherlock nods enthusiastically. “It’s super cool.”

          Next, the owl asks where Daddy is. Sherlock takes a moment before answering.

          “Daddy’s at 221B.” Sherlock says the address a bit proudly, because it takes lots of big kid smarts to remember your address. Sherlock was showing off to his owl.

          The owl uses its quick wits to throw Sherlock off of his gloating. My asks where Sherlock’s nappy is.

          With a soft gasp, Sherlock remembers that he’s not wearing a nappy. “Uh oh.” The little boy says in a quiet whisper. “That’s a ‘bit not good’, like Daddy says.”

          My agrees.

          “What if I need to go wee, My?” Sherlock looked down at the owl, who simply gives no answer. “Should I ask Brother for a nappy?”

          At this, My says ‘duh’.

          “No need to be a rude bird.” Sherlock scolds lightly, My reluctantly apologizes. “Thank you.”

          Sherlock tries to see if he can hear his brother nearby or not. He can’t hear any movement, so Mycroft must still be in another part of the house.

          “I could put a nappy on myself, right My?” Sherlock asks, pushing himself off the couch. My sounds doubtful, but Sherlock ignores the owl. “I’ve done it before.”

          Sherlock busies himself with grabbing the nappy bag from off of the desk where it's laid amongst the brothers’ coats. He took the nappy bag to the center of the area rug, where he places down the bag and My. He squats down in front of the bag and begins upzipping every pocket, big and small ones. Once they’re all open, Sherlock flips the backpack upside down and begins shaking out all of its contents into one pile of this and that. My doesn’t like this.

          “Gotta find my nappy supplies, My.” Sherlock explains his reasoning for dumping out his nappy bag. The boy continues to shake the bag until items stop falling from it.

          There are a few nappies, wipes, and nappy cream. There’s a travel-sized bottle of baby lotion. Two bottles, two sippy cups. A small purple, plastic container of dry cereal. A couple of granola bars. His dummies, two them. There is a colouring book, a pack of twelve crayons. Sherlock’s container of blocks. The mix of soy-based formula for Sherlock’s bottles. A pair of pants, just in case. All of those things are from the big pockets.

          From the little pockets are a tube of hand sanitizer, a small tube of chapstick (that’s Daddy’s), a few coins, a small packet of tissues and a pack of gum.

          Sherlock shifts through the items and picks out things he’ll be needing to put on a nappy. He leaves the rest of the mess on the floor, he also gathers up his owl and moves to a different, uncluttered spot on the large rug.

          “Ok, My,” Sherlock says, dropping the nappy supplies to the floor. “First, I gotta take off my pajama bottoms.” He sits on the floor.

          Sherlock wasn’t feeling quite as young as usual, not so much like a baby. He felt more like a toddler, able to handle tasks and do a bit of problem solving. Also, he felt very curious and quite playful.  

          The little boy tried his best to successfully remove his pajama bottoms. He got one leg out, the other kicking the garment off of his legs completely. Then, he was going to remove his pants, but he heard motion at the entrance to the den.

          “Dear me, what’s happening here?” Mycroft arches a brow at his underessing little brother.

          “Need nappy.” Sherlock points to the nappy supplies resting beside him.

          “You couldn’t be bothered to wait until I return?” Mycroft is amused by this, how actually child-like Sherlock is behaving. This littleness was still quite curiosity peeking for Mycroft. He had so many questions about this lifestyle, but didn’t feel that asking them was appropriate.

          “Owl told me I didn’t have to wait.” Sherlock lied, and My went into a furious bout of yelling, telling the little boy that lying was wrong and that the owl had said no such thing. The boy looks sheepishly up at his brother. “Ok…that’s a lie.”

          Mycroft snorts at the sheepish boy. “You’ve lied to me? Sherlock, how could you?” He jokes, but his brother looks concerened.

          “I didn’t mean it, honest!” Sherlock insists. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

          “Brother is only teasing, Sherlock.” Mycroft’s eyes shift to the pile of belongings beside the empty nappy bag. “You don’t hesitate to make messes, do you?”

          Sherlock follows his brother’s gaze to the pile of items he’d made. He blushes lightly and looks at his bare feet.

          “Well…what was I s’posed to do?” Sherlock looks up at Mycroft, the older only shrugs.

          “That’s a fine question.” Mycroft pulls the fabric of his dressing gown tighter. He’s wearing a light grey tshirt and striped pajama bottoms. Sherlock notices that he’s barefoot, which Mycroft isn’t ever so, normally. The younger brother wonders why Mycroft’s chosen to go barefoot this time. Dwelling on it now made Sherlock feel himself begin to rise from his little headspace, and he didn’t want that. So, he cleared his head and focused back on his nappy business.

          “Mycroft?” Sherlock said in his sweetest little voice. “Can you help me into my nappy?”

          The older brother didn’t really _want_ to do it, but…he didn’t really mind either. He knew this would be part of taking care of Sherlock during his stay at Mycroft’s estate. But, putting on the nappy most likely meant that he would be changing it as well when it became soiled.

          “Sure…er, lie down.” Mycroft eyed the mess of the nappy bag contents again before lowering himself slowly to the floor, where he removed his dressing gown…though, once it was off and folded ot the side, Mycroft wondered why he even took it off to begin with.

          Sherlock lies down, trying to ignore the shyness settling into a rouge on his face. As Mycroft blushes as well. As Mycroft unfolds one nappy, and opens the wipes, Sherlock props himself up on his elbows.

          “Brother? I have dummy?” The boy points to the nappy bag items.

          “Are they in that pile?” Mycroft asks, his younger brother nods. The ginger haired man sifts through the pile, finding two dummies. Both dummies still attatched to their clips. He holds up both to Sherlock. “Which would you like?”

          Sherlock’s bright eyes moved to the first one. It had a green plastic shell, with a blue ring. The ribbon clipped to it was a darker blue. The second dummy was one with an orange plastic shell, and a purple ring. Its ribbon was red.

          “Ah.” The boy makes a soft, wordless noise and points to the first one, the green one. “Please?”

          “Yes.” The older says simply, as he drops the other. Mycroft clips it to Sherlock’s tshirt, and the boy parts his lips to receive it. But, Mycroft has miscalculated the distance between Sherlock’s mouth and where the clip must be placed so Sherlock could receive it. The dummy was clipped too lowly, and it only reached below his clavicle. “Darn.” Mycroft grumbles as he undoes the clip to put it up higher.

          This sends Sherlock into a giggly fit, Mycroft looks up to catch eyes with him.

          “Is that funny?” Myrcroft asks, smile on his face. Sherlock only giggles further. “I suppose it is.” He tries not to sound so formal, but it’s hard not to when he’s never really given himself much opportunity not to be. “Alright, now lie down. Let’s hurry up and get this nappy on you, we’ve got work to do.”

          “Work?” Sherlock lets his lips part as Mycroft raises the dummy to him. He’s almost concerned that Mycroft might take the dummy away again, as his brother likes to…to watch Sherlock’s eyes. But, Mycroft lets Sherlock latch on and suckle the dummy.

          It feels so good, so calming. Sherlock’s missed having a dummy. It’s not even been a full day, not even _half_ a day that he’s gone without one. Still, it’s been too long. Something clicks In Sherlock’s brain when he latches on. He hardly pays attention to…his brother of all people, prompting his legs to part.

          He’s feels the cool air as his pants are removed, and he can tell that his brother’s hands are unsure and nervous. But, he lets Mycroft do the job. Sherlock only flinches once as he feels his brother’s fingertips applying the thick nappy cream over his bits. Other than that Sherlock is pliant and cooperative as his brother fits the nappy onto him. He can hear Mycroft take a wipe from the packet once the nappy is on, Mycroft uses the wipe to clean his hands.

          Mycroft is still a bit in disbelief with the fact that he’s just nappied his brother. It wasn’t…at all difficult. But, it was just… _different_. And, even Mycroft had to admit it was a touch embarrassing. Seeing his brother’s…intimate areas. He was grateful, however, that Sherlock seemed almost completely unaware that it was happening.

          Sherlock allowed Mycroft to slip his pajama bottoms back on, and then the boy sat up. “Thank you.” He says from behind his dummy.

          “Of course.” Mycroft stands up after a moment of eye contact with his brother. “So, shall we get to work, then?”

          “What work?”

          “Let’s go see.”


	104. "Brother happy?"

          Sherlock won’t say it now, and he’s a bit convinced that he might not ever say it…because it’s so surreal, that’d he’d find so much peace at Mycroft’s house. That his brother would allow him to feel this serene, that Mycroft would let Sherlock be little like this.

          His brother had a small room, off near the back of the house, that had one large floor to ceiling length window. It was the biggest window in the house and it reminded Sherlock of all the windows in the home that he and John had stayed in together the previous day.

          In this room, Mycroft had many plants, sort of like a greenhouse. Sherlock wasn’t sure at first why his brother brought him here. The only thing Sherlock was certain of, was that he was throuughly enjoying the feelings of the cold tiled floor beneath his feet. There were slight traces of dirt between the potted plants, and Sherlock didn’t think twice about reaching his foot forward and stepping it into the dirt.

          Mycroft allows this to happen, and he walks off in search of the watering can. He fills it with water, enough so it won’t be too heavy. He returns it to Sherlock, who’s digging his hands into the soil of one of the plants. Again, Mycroft doesn’t stop him.

          “Here,” Mycroft taps his brother’s shoulder. “Water the plants, won’t you? I’m sure they’re in need of a drink.”

          Sherlock let a grin form on his face behind his dummy.

          “I remember you enjoying watering the plants at Grandmama’s house.” Mycroft says as his brother takes the watering can from him. The older watches as Sherlock begins at the nearest plant, watering it…generously. “You remember this room, Sherlock? You’ve only been in here once before.”

          “Yes.” Sherlock lisps around the silicone nipple.

          “Anthea comes here very often,” Mycroft informs him. “I usually will find her here, when she stays about.”

          “She water plants?”

          “Often, yes.”

          “Brother water plants?”

          “Once every blue moon.”

          Sherlock _really_ likes this. Mycroft is giving him tasks, as if he can tell that Sherlock is burning for the feeling of self satisfaction. Really though, Mycroft is looking at this visit as if he's spending time with the little brother he had when Sherlock was younger. He's remembering things that Sherlock enjoyed long ago, and reintroducing them to him now. Mycroft is pleased to see that his brother still enjoys these things. 

          He truly enjoys this, he likes having things to do when he’s little. It keeps his mind off every else that doesn’t have to do with being small. Though, his usual activities with John surround just…enjoying John.

          The boy stops mid-watering to think about John, his Daddy. He feels the familiar pang of longing. He misses John. Sherlock turns to look at Mycoft with slightly wet eyes. Mycroft knows what that means immediately.

          “We’re going to talk about Daddy soon enough.” The older brother assures. “Don’t you worry.”

          Sherlock lets a soft sniffle, though he’s not truly crying.

          “Finish up your watering, and then we’ll have a treat.” Mycroft says, and that’s enough to get Sherlock back on task. He inhales the rich scent of soil, and earth. He looks at all of the vibrant greens and pretty petals of the plants. And, he even lets himself dip his hands into the moist soil, and this is especially pleasing from a sensory standpoint. He giggles lightly, sniffles again from his almost-cry.

          Sherlock makes runs over to Mycroft when the can is empty and he sure that every plant is watered. When that’s done, he dashes back over to Mycroft.

          “Done, done, done!” Sherlock exclaims, a proud grin on his face. Mycroft is completely ready to give praise.

          “Excellently done!” The older brother exclaims. “You get every plant, did you?”

          “Yes, yes!” Sherlock turns and points to each one saying ‘that one’ as his finger landed on them, eventually pointing to every plant that he did indeed water.

          “My word, this is certainly incredible.”  Mycroft declares, the enthusasim in voice sounds very genuine. “I am very impressed, and very proud of all you have done.”

          The way that Mycroft says this…makes it seem like he means…something more. Other than being simply proud of his brother water the plants. It seems like-

          “So, about that treat?” Mycroft interrupts Sherlock’s thoughts, which is good, because it helps him remain little.

          Still, Sherlock’s brain moves onto the next thought. If Mycroft were John right now, Sherlock would kiss his mouth. It’s his most favorite way to say ‘thank you’. And, he doesn’t have too sure words to say it. But…it wouldn’t be ok to say ‘thank you’ to Brother in that way, would it?

          With John, Shelock’s kisses during little time don’t mean anything wrong. They aren’t grown up kisses, and they certainly aren’t romantic or sexual. So, would it be that wrong? Deep in Sherlock’s tummy, there’s a feeling that lets him know that he shouldn’t do it. So, instead, he lets his dummy fall from his mouth, and he sweetly leans over to kiss his brother’s cheek. He replaces his dummy and looks up at his brother.

          Mycroft’s eyes go wide and his face rouge. Sherlock simply does the smallest of giggles, his own smile not faltering.

          “Brother happy?” Sherlock asks, words garbled. It takes Mycroft a moment to answer.

          “Y-yes, very happy.”

          “Good.” Sherlock nods in confirmation. “Treat now?”

          “Er, yes.” Mycroft clears his throat. “Let’s go little one.”

          Mycroft is better at taking care of Sherlock than they both thought he would be. 


	105. “Oh, treat!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello!
> 
> Chapters 101-105 today.
> 
> This last chapter is super short and ends abruptly because it's only half of the chapter that it was going to be. I kinda left a mini cliffhanger to motivate myself into hopping aboard and finishing the next update more quickly. 
> 
> Silly, right? But it's working! I have half of the nest update already written up! :)  
> So, I'll see you all very soon. 
> 
> Thanks for reading,   
> ~TJL

          In the ‘greenhouse’ sink, Mycroft assisted Sherlock in washing his hands, making sure all the newly acquired soil is out from under the boy’s nails. Sherlock sang a song while they did this, one that Mycroft thinks sounds far more familiar than it should. The little boy knows it because it’s the one that John had sung to him during his nappy change, and the one he and John listened to while relaxing on the sofa together.

          Mycroft dries his brother’s hands, then walks him back to the den to retrieve his owl, at Sherlock’s request. While Sherlock collected his snowy owl, Mycroft collected Sherlock’s formula.

          “Do you want a sippy cup or a bottle?” The older asks.

          “Hm?” Sherlock asks from where he’s squatting on the floor, brushing My’s feathers with his fingers.

          Mycroft holds up a bottle and a sippy cup, one in each hand, how Mycroft had done the dummies.

          “Bottle.” Sherlock says after looking between the two.

          “Right,” Mycroft stands up straight. “Let’s be off, then.”

          Sherlock is staying lowered to the floor, running his fingers through My’s feathers. Mycroft arches a brow.

          “You’re not going to come along for your treat?” Mycroft asks, and Sherlock turns to him with a large grin.

          “Oh, treat!”

          “Yes, c’mon, little brother.”


	106. Leave My Flat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello! 
> 
> Chapters 106-113 are here!
> 
> Ok, so I updated again before this month ended! Getting a bit more back on track!  
> I know it took me a while, sort of. But, this chapter is 12K+, so it kind of explains the wait. 
> 
> This update contains some 'finally!' moments.  
> I hope anyway.
> 
> As Always,  
> Thanks for reading! <3  
> ~TJL
> 
> PS, this chapter is a memory!

 

            _My brother has been here. The knocker on the outside door has been straightened. Either he’s still here, or he’s recently left. Preferably the latter._

_Upon entering the home, with six indicators, I can determine that he’s still here. Immediately, I’m annoyed, though slightly hopeful that he comes bearing the news of an interesting case. As I climb the steps, I expect to find him sitting in John’s chair with his legs crossed and umbrella resting close by. However, entering the flat, I don’t see him. Not where I thought I would. Rather, I see his umbrella resting against the coffee table. John’s chair is empty, neither John nor Mycroft are sitting in it. Dr. Watson is away with a girlfriend at the time, Mycroft is…is…_

_My bedroom door is open, and I can see a shadow moving about the space. **My space**. I am instantly annoyed, afraid, angry. My room is **my room** , it’s where I…keep my…_

_“Mycroft!” I shout and stomp down the hallway, I can feel my coat fluttering like a train behind me. “What the **hell** are you-“_

_“Funny, brother dear…” Mycroft muses, standing inside my open closet door. My stomach and heart both sink to my feet when I see him holding one of my dummies in his hand. It’s not one that I use often, still it bothers me incredibly that someone else is holding it. For some reason, that bothers me more so than my older brother rummaging through my little things at all. “I don’t recall you and Dr. Watson having a baby.”_

_“You know very well that what you are seeing is very private.” I hiss. “Why the hell are you even going through my things?”_

_“Normally, you spend your time experimenting in your kitchen area.” Mycroft looks up at me, smug look on his face. “Since becoming a man, I’ve never known Sherlock Holmes to spend much time in his bedroom as an adult. I was worried about what you might be doing in here.” He shows the dummy to me. “I must say, I’m quite surprised. What is all of this?”_

_“None of your business.” I open the bedroom door, point out through it. “Leave, we can discuss this in the living area. I’ll put the kettle on.”_

_“Brother, **please**.” Mycroft’s smug expression is still perched on his face and it unsettles me. “I’d rather discuss it here with all of your nice toys, and dummies. Nappies even.”_

_“We’re not talking here.” I point out of my room again. “Out in the living room or not at all.”_

_Mycroft’s smug face falters only slightly, but he does put my dummy down, and he leaves my room. I close the door firmly after him._

~*~

_I make us tea, I sip mine immediately and burn my tongue. I set mine aside. Brother holds his and lets the heat seep pleasantly into his skin._

_“So,” He arches an auburn brow at me. “Explain.”_

_“I…participate in…” The words get stuck thickly in my throat. I wish I was burning my mouth with tea again instead._

_“Yes?” Mycroft is smirking again. I want him to leave. I usually do._

_“I’m not…always…like **this**.”_

_“Explain.” He prompts again._

_“Those things are mine.” I admit, watching his eyebrows shoot nearly off of his annoying forehead._

_He's surprised, though he should've guessed that they were mine. Maybe he was hoping not._

_“Obviously.” He says as if his eyebrows haven’t just gone to the moon. “Explain.”_

_“Stop it.” I spit. “Stop saying that!”_

_“If you would just explain to me why on Earth you’re hoarding all of those…those **things**! I wouldn’t keep asking you to explain it to me!”_

_“I like them!” I wish I wasn’t shouting. “I like them! They make me feel…feel…”_

_“Like a baby?” Mycroft says it mockingly, I can hear the laugh resting in his throat._

_“…Yes.” I have no choice but to admit it. Lest be ridiculed._

_“Why would you possibly want to feel like **that**? Incompetent, weak, defenseless?”_

_“It’s not for those reasons.”_

_“What other reasons could they possibly be?” He sips his tea, and I stay quiet. “You are **Sherlock Holmes**. The intelligent, though arrogant man you are. You could be anything in the world, yet you choose to be an infant? Explain.”_

_I flinch when he says ‘explain’ yet again. “It makes me feel…small.”_

_“Again, why would you want that?” He’s trying to sound patient, but I can tell that he really wants to yell at me. Scold me for ‘undoing’ all of my growing. For…giving up on being ‘the intelligent Sherlock Holmes’. He thinks that I’m retreating into childish things to escape being an adult. He’s not wrong, though. Not entirely. He thinks yelling will ‘snap me out of it’. Or…he just wants it to._

_“It makes me feel safe! I feel less vulnerable!” I am shouting again. I wish I wasn’t. “I need this!”_

_“But, **why**??”_

_“I always have!”_

_“Why?”_

_“I don’t know!” I point to him. “Why the hell do you need all of those sweets? Do you know?”_

_“Don’t turn this on me.”_

_“You’re doing it to me!”_

_“Unwise, brother mine.” Mycroft scolds. “Avoiding telling me via insults is juvenile. Or, are you not above that anymore…due to this…role playing, is it?”_

_“It’s not role play.”_

_“Then, what do you call it?”_

_“I. Just. Am.”_

_“You’re what?”_

_“Little.”_

_“Sherlock-“_

_“I’m little!” I feel silly for defending such a silly truth. “I’m little, it’s apart of me. I do this because there is always something inside that is small. And, if I don’t nurture it…I reach my limits far more quickly and I get stressed out. I shut down, and I shut people out. And…I began wishing to use again.”_

_“Use?” Mycroft’s eyes widen. “For goodness sake, Sherlock. Don’t do **that**.”_

_“Then, leave my flat. And, never go through my things again.”_

_“I will leave for now.” Mycroft finishes his tea quickly, then sets his dishes aside. “What would John Watson think of this?”_

_I don’t say anything. I don’t know what John would think. He would find this all bizarre, rightfully so. John would either write it off as a strange fetish, and just ignore it, hoping he wouldn’t walk in on it one day. Or, he could get the wrong idea and, like many other people, and think that this practice has to do with…actual children. Which it doesn’t, it never has been that way for me. Would John want to move out? Best case scenario would probably be the one where John simply ignores it. He wouldn’t…want to indulge me in this. John Watson is an army doctor, he likes adrenaline. He’s addicted to that rush. This is the opposite of a rush. This is my calm, my peace, my security, my safety. Why would John be interested in this? He’d never understand it anyway._

_Mycroft watches me run the possibilities over in my head. He’s looking at me with an expression that almost reads pity. And, it would’ve came across that way, if his hint of amused smirk wasn’t still playing on his smug face. **Leave my flat, Mycroft**. _

_He notices that I’m glaring at him, and with a final smirk, he stands, gathers his umbrella. He pats my shoulder, and tell me ‘good luck’ and it wasn’t until he’d offered me ‘good luck’ that I realized that I might just need it._


	107. Enough Now

            “What do you imagine that John Watson wants?”

            “I’m…sorry, sir?”

            “John Watson, he intrigues me.” The man looks at the screen of his mobile as he scrolls through messages between himself, and one of his close associates, a female client of his. “Dr. Watson…he’s the kind of person who’s been broken many times, but never properly mended.”

            “I…see.”

            “I believe that he’s smaller inside, or that at least a part of him is.” The man rises to his feet and walks over to his desk. “There’s something in John that makes me believe he’s in need of many affections, to be held. He needs it, but doesn’t _want_ it.”

            “Yes, Sir.”

            “However, that’s why I love my baby so much more.” He looks back at his mobile and begins scrolling through his image gallery, looking at photos of Sherlock that he’s taken. “Look at how pretty my baby is, I bet he misses Daddy, me of course. Not _John_.”

            “You’ve got quite the obsession with Mr. Holmes.”

            “Of course, I do.” The man hisses, either in defense or in a firm declaration. It’s hard to tell. “He’s absolutely perfect. And, he’s so _small_.”

            “Sure,” A pause. “For a man nearly over six feet tall.”

            The man looks up from his phone’s screen, then he points to the door. “Leave.”

            Once the other person is gone, and he is alone in the office, he sits at his desk.

            “Daddy’s getting impatient, Sherlock.” The man sighs, scrolling through photos again. “He’s been trying to wait. Barely coming in contact, only nicking your dummies while you’re out and about.” He pauses, smiling at an image of Sherlock at a crime scene.

            The consulting detective has a concentrated frown on his face. He’s watching Lestrade talk, listening to the DI give details about the scene.

            “Of course, nicking your dummies was the easy part. You never noticed me taking them from you. Sherlock Holmes, _far_ too concerned with the task at hand to realize that he’s being pick-pocketed. Do you really think that you just _lose_ them? That's what you've told John Watson.” The man snickers. “You and I both know that you aren’t that careless. Not with something as precious as your dummies.” He opens a drawer. “I have them right here. Waiting for you, for when you come to me.” 

            He closes the drawer back, returning to looking at images on his mobile. This one is a picture of Sherlock sitting across from John in a restaurant. “Taking you and John Watson for a drive was nice. It’s always enjoyable to see you relaxed. Though, it’s rare for me to see, because I mostly catch you during your cases.”

            The man clicks the lock button on his phone, setting it down on his desk.

            “But,” He says, in a singsong tone. “ _Daddy’s had enough now_.”

            With a sigh, he leans back in his seat. “No one gets me, love. No one ever understands Daddy, and no one ever really will. Not these _ordinary_ people." The man’s face fades into a tired expression. “But, hopefully you will...and Daddy won’t have to be lonely anymore, yeah? I’ll see you soon enough.” 


	108. No One Can Take You (Away)

             _Confiscated_. John repeats the word in his head. Bloody _confiscated_.

            He debates marching down into the living room and pouring himself _something_ to take the edge off of his mood. John also debated going into Sherlock’s room and wrapping himself up in the blankets that smelled of his flatmate…best friend, his baby. All of those things. However, that felt like he would be being too desperate. That’s things that people do in movies and love songs. They go to the person’s room to be amongst their sheets, their clothes. John wasn’t sure why he felt that turning to drinking was a higher road that just breathing in Sherlock, but he felt that way. The only thing that stopped him from actually doing it, was the fact that he wanted to prove to himself that he didn’t _need_ a drink. He wasn’t going to be like his dad and Harry.

            “But, why _confiscated_?” John spits, rolling onto his other side. “That’s what people do at airports and things, when someone has something that they’re not supposed to have. Confiscated. So, what? Mycroft was trying to say that I don’t know how to take care of Sherlock? He's saying I shouldn't have him? That I wasn’t doing it right?” He chuckles ruefully, then flops himself onto his back. “Mycroft is a real prick.”

            John stares up at the ceiling. “Am… _am I_ doing it right?” He wonders, remembering Sherlock’s pure gleeful giggles and smiles while he was under John’s care. Sherlock _seemed_ happy. He’d even been sleeping and eating regularly, and not doing damage to his body by holding his waste for far too long. All in all, Sherlock had…if anything, improved right? But, why didn’t John felt like he’d done a good job?

            “Because Mycroft had to take Sherlock _away_ from me.” He answers his question out loud. “Why’d he take him? He could’ve talked to me about it.” John scoffs. “I told him the last time he was here that this was a ‘safe space’ and all. But, that doesn’t mean waltz into my bloody flat and take my fucking kid.” He sits up, his fingers pressing hard into his palms. John shifts himself under the blankets again, pulling them over his head to keep himself from getting up to get himself a drink. He didn’t want to give in to that, not now. Please, not ever. Not like them.

            He stayed awake, thinking about what he actually loss when Mycroft took Sherlock away. Did he lose his child, his best friend, his flatmate? He had lost all of those things more or less. But, why did it feel more like he had failed Sherlock as his daddy more than anything?

            Nights like these, are times when John would like to go on a walk. Clear his mind. Late night walks around this area were always interesting. Because, there were unusual people out at night, if anyone at all. This left the streets oddly quiet, with only the silence disturbed by slightly drunken whoops and laughter. The sounds of tires against the roads. Not the bustling people on their way to work, or children rushing to or from school. Just quiet sleepy homes, and establishments closed for the night.

            But, John couldn’t walk tonight. According to Mycroft and Sherlock, there was danger afoot. And, it was bad enough that Sherlock was out of John’s reach. Out of reach from  John’s immediate protection. That made John’s stomach turn. If Sherlock wasn’t currently alright, Mycroft would’ve contacted him, right?

             _For god’s sake, I’m tired of being out of the bloody loop all the time with those two. Sherlock, you’ll be home soon enough, and I will **not** be letting you go again. Not anytime soon. Screw your damn brother. You are my friend, my son. My **everything** and no one can take you…no one can **confiscate** you. You aren’t theirs to take. You are mine.  _

            “Aren’t you…?” John says aloud. “Christ, what’s wrong with me? I’m talking to myself…to _you_ in my head. I’m being so…possessive. This isn’t like me. Why am I doing this? Sod it. I’m getting that drink before I go insane.” 

             _I'll be like them...just for tonight. Just until you come home. I'm sorry. I am._


	109. Which Bees?

            Sherlock stopped short when they entered the grand kitchen of Mycroft’s estate. His eyes took in everything around him, and he furrowed his brow. He wanted to stay in his little state, but his overactive brain took over and he felt big, but only for a moment. The reason why he was so taken aback by this kitchen, was because he…had the same kitchen in his mind palace. When had that kitchen become this one? It wasn’t an intentional thing. Sherlock never _planned_ for the kitchen in his mind to be _this one_. Usually, if Sherlock needed a kitchen space in his mind palace, he used the entrance to Grandmama's house and use hers. But, the main kitchen in his mind was this one. _Why_?

            “Something wrong?” Mycroft asks as sets down Sherlock’s empty bottle, alongside the container of soy formula.

            Sherlock’s eyes float to his brother and then he shakes his head. The younger opens and closes the fist of his free hand. The other hand holding My, he used it to bring the owl close. He pressed his nose into the owl’s body to smell the scent of 221B. _John_ , Sherlock grimaced against another pang of longing, but quickly pushed the feeling away as he saw his brother retrieve a small sauce pan and place it over a burner on the stove.

            With a deep breath, Sherlock cleared his overactive mind and he let himself begin to slip into his little space again. He wished he could actively stay in one headspace or the other for longer periods of time. No matter what headspace he was in, the other space was waiting for a chance to take over.

            “Brother?” Sherlock says, voice as small as he can manage while he’s still slipping.

            “Yes?” Mycroft responds as he measures out Sherlock’s formula.

            “What y’doing?”

            “We’re going to make your treat now.”

            “Then what?”

            Mycroft looks up from what he’s doing, a slight…almost apologetic smile looming in his eyes. “Then, we’re going to have a very long talk.”

            “About my daddy?”

            “Yes, about Daddy.”

            “I…” Sherlock presses his nose into My’s body again. “I don’t think I want to.”

            “We’ll cross that road when we get to it, then.” Mycroft says instead of _‘But we will have that talk, Sherlock.’_

            Sherlock takes a few small steps toward his brother and watched Mycroft dump the correct amount of powdered formula mix into the sauce pan, while the burner’s flame was still off. Next, in went the correct amount of water.

            “Right,” Mycroft says and then hands Sherlock a whisk. “Mix this, please?”

            The little boy’s eyes move from the whisk in his hand to the stove.

            “Need chair.” Sherlock says, putting down his owl on the kitchen counter nearby.

            “Pardon?”

            “Too little, need chair to reach.” Sherlock insists to his brother. Mycroft’s auburn eyebrows raise nearly off of his forehead. Sherlock looks down at his bare feet as he uses one of them to trace around the shape of the tile.

            Mycroft wanted to say _‘Sherlock Holmes, you are taller than **me** even, why in god’s name do you need a chair to reach?’ _ but like last time, Mycroft doesn’t say it. He simply crosses the kitchen to the small breakfast nook, and retrieves one of the chairs and faces it backwards at the stove. Sherlock’s shy demeanor quickly went from shy to a very excited little boy’s. He bounced in place for a moment before climbing into the chair whilst on his knees. Mycroft was surprised by this, but glad that his brother didn’t _stand_ on the chair…because then Sherlock really _wouldn’t_ be able to reach the stove. Sherlock was at a good height now, and still able to reach the pot to stir it with the whisk.

            Though, Sherlock didn’t understand how making his formula at the stove was a _treat_. He was used to having warm formula. Maybe the treat part was the fact that Sherlock was being allowed to make it? He didn't always like making it, but he does now, in his little state as he felt like a toddler. He ejoyed being given tasks, and this one was fun too.

            However, the _treat_ part became more obvious when his brother approached with more ingredients to go into the mix. First, Mycroft handed Sherlock an eyedropper, a small one along with a small bottle of vanilla extract.

            “One dropper full, two if you’d really like that taste.” Mycroft instructed.

            Sherlock carefully suctioned one dropper full of the amber liquid, then carefully dripped it into the formula, while the fire was still off. This reminded him of doing experiments! It made him feel very happy (and wonderfully naughty), because Daddy says he’s not allowed to do experiments when he was little.

            He mixed the vanilla in determinedly, a peek of his tongue pressed from his lips in concentration. Mycroft chuckled at this, hands holding the next ingredients for Sherlock to add.

            “Nutmeg, and _cinnamon_.” Mycroft crinkled his nose at the cinnamon. “Just shake a bit of each, then mix.” Sherlock did as he was told, then waited for what was to come next. When he turned his head to look at his brother, his eyes widened. Mycroft was holding a wooden stick, and at the end of it, was a bee shaped… _something_. It was deep-gold coloured and shiny. “This is a stirrer.” Brother explains.

            “Oh.”

            “I’ve got several of them, as gifts.” Mycroft hands it to Shrerlock and the boy looks at it.

            “No more whisk?”

            “Not until the end, no.” Mycroft nods. “However, the bee is made of-“ He stops as Sherlock inserts the bee part into his mouth, and his bright eyes light up even more.

            “Honey!” Sherlock exclaims, the word garbled around the stirrer in his mouth.

            “Yes, that is honey.” Mycroft confirms. “But, from where?”

            “Bees?” The boy guesses.

            “Which bees?” Mycroft arches a brow, and Sherlock says nothing but continues to suck on the honey stick. “Where have you been recently that has bees, Sherlock?”

            Sherlock thinks about it. “Stone house.” He’s already beginning to dribble as he enjoys the honey.

            “Correct, smart boy. However, that stick _was_ for your formula, you know.” Mycroft goes back over to the fridge to acquire another one. “Let me just…” Mycroft reaches past his brother and turns on the fire under the pot. “Be careful not to burn yourself.”

            “’Kay.” Sherlock replies.

            “Mix the formula with the stirrer until the honey has been all mixed in,” Mycroft instructs and Sherlock nods, suckling reverently on one honey stirrer, and mixing his formula with the other.

            All the while, humming contently the song that John had shared with him. Mycroft is patient as the processs takes place. He lets Sherlock have this activity, knowing his little brother enjoys his tasks. Mycroft only interacts with his brother by dabbing a cloth to his chin and mouth to clean up the dribble before it makes its way to the boy’s shirt. Surprisingly, Mycroft actually enjoys that. He’s enjoying all of this, having his little brother again.  

            Sherlock can feel the heat from the pot as the mixture begins to be warmed, and it’s almost a little scary. He doesn’t want to burn himself. But, big brother is watching him and he’ll make sure Sherlock doesn’t get burned. The little boy is sure of it.

            He mixes the formula, pulling the bee stirrer out of the pot every once in a while to see if it’s melting or not. Every time he pulls it out, more and more of the little bee is dissolved away. Sherlock is both saddened and intrigued by this.

            When the stirrer is completely dissolved, Brother takes the wooden stick from him, and places the whisk back into Sherlock’s hand.

            “Give it one more good stir.” Mycroft says. This time, instead of moving a few feet away from his brother, Mycroft stays close, one of his hands scratching fondly at Sherlock’s scalp. The little boy hums contently around the stirrer in his mouth. They stand like this until Mycroft reaches forward and turns the fire off.

            “Hot?” Sherlock asks, pointing to the pot as Mycroft takes it off of the burner.

            “Yes, quite.” The older responds, setting the mixture aside. The entire kitchen smelled of warm sweet. Sherlock couldn’t wait to drink it.

            “Brother want some?” Sherlock garbles, points to the mixture.

            “No, thank you.” Mycroft shakes his head. “At times though, I do enjoy warm milk with honey. But, don’t tell.”

            Sherlock takes the stirrer from his mouth and giggles because Brother has told him a secret.

            “Want to know something else?” Mycroft looks both ways to ‘make sure no one else was listening’. Sherlock nods.

            “Tell me?”

            “Sometimes, I like to add a bit of rum to mine.”

            Sherlock’s eyes become large at this news. “Alc’hol?”

            “Yes.” Mycroft smirks at his brother’s small gasp.

            “That’s for grown ups, M'croft.” Sherlock frowns at his brother scoldingly.

            “Am I not an adult?” Mycroft takes the cloth and wipes Sherlock’s chin.

            Sherlock rolls his eyes. “No, _duh_.” The boy puts the stirrer back into his mouth.

            “Oh?” The older quirks a brow. “What am I, pray tell?”

            “You’re Mycroft.” The boys says, popping the stirrer out of his mouth to say it, then reinserting it immediately.

            “Ah,” Mycroft smiles genuinely. “I see, then.”

            “Not grown up.” Sherlock says around the stirrer and he raises his arms to Mycroft from his spot, kneeled on the chair.

            Mycroft remembers seeing Sherlock do this to John before, during one of  his visits. Sherlock is asking to be picked up. John usually distracts Sherlock with something, as to keep from having to say ‘no’ to the boy. So, Mycroft looks around the kitchen for something to distract him with. But, there’s not much, not really. So, Mycroft thinks of something else.

            If Mycroft _could_ carry Sherlock on his hip, he would. He did so to Sherlock long ago, for many years. Longer than what was maybe _acceptable_ for a boy his age. However, when Mycroft stopped carrying his little brother on his hip, he began carrying him on is back instead. He remembers this fondly because he loved being a figure of comfort and security for his little brother. That’s why, when Sherlock began disconnecting from him…and stopped looking to his brother for those things, it hurt. It’s why Mycroft had the habit of taking Sherlock’s dummies away and giving them back during the little time, he only wanted to interact with him again.  

            “Would you like to have your bottle outside?” Mycroft offers.

            “What?” Sherlock asks, still suckling on his stirrer. He lowers his arms.

            “There’s a bench outside that sways back and forward.” The older explains. “It should be calming while you nurse.”

            “Rock?”

            “I’m sorry?”

            “Brother rock me?”

            “If you’d like.”

            “Please?” Sherlock asks sweetly.

            “Of course. I offered, didn’t I?” Mycroft gives the boy another smile, then looks toward the pot on the stove. “It should’ve cooled off a bit. Let’s get it into your bottle then go out back.”

            “Please.” Sherlock nods gathering up My to bring the owl along. 


	110. Reasoning: Right and Wrong

            Sherlock refused to put on shoes for going outside, and for some reason, Mycroft sighed and slipped off the slippers he’d put on, and went barefoot as well. The stone flooring of the back porching was cold beneath their feet. Sherlock felt stray nature, dirt and small gravely bits, under his feet as he walked, following Mycroft to the wooden bench. The bench swayed as Mycroft sat onto it. The older brother stabilized the bench by steeling his feet to the ground as Sherlock climbed on, owl still in one arm.

            “How would you like me to – oh…” Mycroft silences himself when he feels Sherlock’s face press into the softness of his belly. The older pets the boy’s curls.

            “I _really_ miss my daddy.” Sherlock sounds near tears and Mycroft isn’t sure what more to say. Mycroft remains silent as he begins to shake up the warm bottle in that hand that isn’t petting his brother’s hair. “I want him…all the time. Even when he’s with me.”

            “Yes, I know.”

            “In my chest, right now…my heart feels sad and mad and…icky.” His voice is still little as he tells his brother these things. “I want to cry and punch things. I wanna mess the whole world up.”

            Mycroft chuckles at this. “And, mess it up you shall.”

            “I will?” Sherlock picks his head up from his brother’s tummy. Mycroft takes this as the perfect opportunity to quiet his brother by inserting the bottle’s nipple into the boy’s mouth.

            “You will indeed ‘mess the world up’.” Mycroft nods. “It’ll start with London, then the rest of this fine country. After that, you’ll maybe head east. Or west, who knows?”

            Sherlock feels the nipple resting on his tongue, but he doesn’t quite begin drinking. He feels his brother’s index finger tapping his cheek.

            “Come on, Sherlock.” Mycroft urges. “We’ve got a lot to talk about after this, drink up.”

            “Like what?” Sherlock says around the nipple.

            “Like,” Mycroft sighs. “Your icky feeling heart. And, yes, it’s quite icky. Just as icky as it feels.”

            “Why?”

            “It’s got a bug in it.”

            “W’kinda bug?”

            “Love bug.” Mycroft answers and Sherlock only crinkles his nose, not taking his brother seriously because he’s little. Mycroft knew that Sherlock wouldn’t take him seriously at this time. “Drink your milk, little one.”

            “Then we talk?”

            “I’ll let you play for a bit beforehand, if you feel so inclined.” Mycroft responds as he feels slight motion at the other end of the bottle as Sherlock begins to suckle. “But, this night isn’t ending without us talking.”

            Sherlock gives a slight ‘we will see about that’ grumble. Mycroft ignores it.

            For some reason, Mycroft feels as if he should be singing to Sherlock. But, he doesn’t know what to sing, and he’s sure he’ll sound just _awful_ , so he decides against it. Sherlock plays with the soft feathers on My’s body, and he listens to the slight creak of the bench as Mycroft begins rocking them.

            The soft breeze carries a sweet scent, one of changing seasons. The scent is just as sweet as the contents of Sherlock’s bottle. The honey has given the formula not only a sweetness, but also a sort of creamy thickness that feels incredibly soothing to Sherlock’s throat. The sweetness of the fluid makes Sherlock feel happy, like smiling. The hints of vanilla, nutmeg and cinnamon add so much vibrant flavour and Sherlock is just all around content. Accompanied with the sweet breeze, gentle rhythmic rocking, and his brother’s body heat…Sherlock can honestly say that he is entirely at peace now. Other than the subtle nagging feeling in his heart due to the ickiness it feels, and the longing for John. But, that feeling is hardly noticible now.

            Sherlock was so deep in thought, that he almost didn’t hear Mycroft saying facts about snowy owls. All of them Sherlock already knew, but was happy to hear them again. He liked the way that Mycroft spoke to him when he was little. Usually, it wasn’t baby talk. Though, sometimes it got to that point. The way Mycroft spoke to him, was…kind. It was a gentle voice, but one that made Sherlock feel like he wasn’t being spoken down to. That he knew Sherlock was ready to bust out his genius at any second. It was the same way that he spoke to Sherlock many years ago.

            The younger brother reached one hand up to touch Mycroft’s face much like Sherlock had done to Mrs. Hudson on the night that she babysat him. Mycroft allowed it to happen, but he didn’t meet Sherlock’s eyes during that time. When Sherlock took his hand back, Mycroft looked down at him.

            “Are you enjoying your treat?” Mycroft asks, still pushing the sway bench with his foot to keep them in motion. Sherlock nods and closes his eyes. He almost wants to sleep, but his big headspace is nudging him, telling him to stay awake and talk to Mycroft after this. The thought of talking to Mycroft about…whatever this is, spreads that icky feeling from his heart, to all over his body and Sherlock begins to whimper softly because of it.

            “What’s wrong, little one?” Mycroft asks, his other hand coming up to pet the boy’s curls again. “Do you want to stop nursing?”

            Sherlock shakes his head, then listens to Mycroft coo soft words to him. The little boy is feeling smaller and smaller. He really wants John, and he’s upset with himself for not being to just enjoy this final moment of closeness with Mycroft before their big talk. He was feeling so peaceful a moment ago. Sherlock hates that he always ends up ruining things by thinking too much.

He’s so frustrated. He’s always so frustrated by not being able to stay in a good headspace for long enough. Sherlock is frustrated for not understanding these feelings, too. For even _having_ these feelings.

            The boy’s soft whimpering is louder now, but still not a full on cry. Mycroft continues to say soft words to his brother. But, he pulls the nipple from Sherlock’s mouth. That only results in more whines that are now accompanied by a few syllables, but not complete words being omitted frustratedly. Most of those syllables are vowels.

            Mycroft reaches between the two of them for Sherlock’s dummy which is still clipped to the boy’s shirt. He has to pass the clear silicone nipple over his brother’s mouth a few times before Sherlock accepts it and latches on. The whining subsides a bit and Sherlock opens his damp eyes to Mycroft. The brothers meet eyes. After a few beats, Mycroft chuckles.

            “I never thought I’d be holding you like this again, or giving you a bottle.” Mycroft admits. “Nor did I ever think that I’d be nappying you again. Well, I did think about the chance of you becoming incompetent after years of drug use triggered rapid aging. But, I’d have had someone else nappy you should that happen.”

            Sherlock scoffs from behind his dummy, his big headspace nearly completely taken over after _that_ comment. Maybe Mycroft knew he wasn’t talking to little Sherlock anymore.

            “We _really_ need to talk, Sherlock.” Mycroft looks across his large back yard. “I don’t want you to feel this pain anymore. At least, not without knowing what it is.”

            “Please, tell me what it is.” Sherlock says, knowing that his words are being garbled by the dummy even though he’s big, but not caring. He needs the extra comfort right now.

            “Are you ready?”

            “I probably won’t ever be, so it’s best to get it overwith anyway.”

            “Yes.” Mycroft says simply, and shaking the bottle again. “Do you want to finish this?”

            Sherlock looks up at it, and he nods. “I’ll do it myself, though.” He sits up, no longer laid across his brother’s lap. The younger sits up and brings his knees close. Then, he lets the dummy fall from his mouth, and it hangs by its clip. Sherlock glances down at My, who’s sitting between the two brothers.

            “The owl’s name is My.” Sherlock says, looking out over Mycroft’s lawn just as his brother is. Mycroft freezes for a split second after hearing that news. He quickly ‘acts natural’ in hopes that Sherlock didn’t notice his pause.

            “Oh, is it?” Mycroft pretends to not be effected by that news. 

            “Yes.” Sherlock nods. “After you.”

            “Obviously.”

            “Do you mind?” Sherlock reaches a hand up to play with the ribbon of his dummy clip.

            “Should I?”

            “I don’t know.” Sherlock is a bit disappointed that Mycroft doesn’t show more emotion. He wants to know how his brother really feels about it. “Do you want to know why I named the owl after you?”

            _You keep that owl close to you at all times, so it is very important to you. The owl bears my name, does that mean I am as important? Do you wish to keep me near at all times? Even the times in which you disconnected from me? Please tell me._ Mycroft has the silent pleading monologue in his mind, but outwardly shrugs his shoulders.

            “If you’d like to tell me, you may.” Mycroft doesn’t dare look at Sherlock.

            The younger brother sighs, again disappointed by Mycroft’s lack of emotions and nonchalant attitude. But, he tells him anyway.

            “Mycroft, you…have…for a long time…been my sense of reasoning.” Sherlock holds the bottle tighter between his large hands. “You used to always tell me right from wrong. And, helped me balance pros and cons of nearly any given situation. If I had any problems making a decision, I went to you.”

            The older brother feels a vibrating thrum in his chest.

            “When I’m little,” Sherlock continues. “I don’t like to…worry about those sorts of things. The right or wrongs, or any of that crap.”

            Mycroft breaths a slight chuckle as Sherlock literally waves his hand at proper reasoning.

            “But, when I’m little and reasoning isn’t my main concern, My is always with me.” Sherlock looks down at the bottle absentmindedly. “My tells me if something is good or bad, or if I should tell someone something that has to do with my needs. Also, My is funny and always listens if I need to tell them anything. My keeps me safe when Daddy isn’t around to.” He finally looks over at his brother. “My is all of those things, because you…”

            “Sherlock…”

            “You were the best big brother in the entire world before you left me.”

            “Left you?” Mycroft looks over at Sherlock as well. “When did I – “

            “For uni!” Sherlock raises a hand into the air. “That’s when everything started falling apart for me. The cigarettes, then the drugs and the…all of the awful things, Mycroft.”

            “So, you’re saying it’s my fault that you did all of those things?”

            “I’m saying that I missed you like hell,” Sherlock shakes his head. “I am saying that…you were my reasoning, my right and wrong. And, because of that, I depended on you too heavily. You did all that you could to make me strong and independent, yet it only made me cling to you more." Sherlock breathes. "It's not your fault, not at all. Don't deel that way. I always knew it wasn't your fault. But, by the time I accepted that it was a fault of mine, and that I’d depended on you too heavily...I already had a needle in my arm.”

            “Oh…”

            “A bit too late, I’d say.” Sherlock tried to throw in some humor to lighten the mood. But, the mood hadn’t gotten too heavy to begin with.

            “Did your owl help you at all during that time, then?” Mycroft’s eyes are fixed on the yard once again. Watching distant trees have their leaves swayed by the breeze.

            “No, because I forgot about it.”

            “So, you’d forgotten about me?”

            Sherlock finally hears some sort of emotion in Mycroft’s voice, his brother’s throat sounds a bit tight.

            “I stopped thinking about you, because I started thinking that you didn’t care.”

            “Why the hell…?” Mycroft doesn’t usually curse, and that shows Sherlock that his brother is indeed being effected by this conversation.

            “You stopped coming around.” Sherlock shrugs his shoulders. “You were the only person like me, and it was jarring to be suddenly without you. No calls, nothing.”

            “Not true, I did call when I could.” Mycroft shakes his head. “You ignored me when I did.”

            “I was hurt.”

            “I didn’t chose to leave you, Sherlock you moron.”

            Sherlock sets the bottle down on the bench so that he could ruffle his hands through his hair, frutatedly.

            “I know! I know!” Sherlock yells. “That’s just what it felt like!”

            “You don’t go off doing drugs and scaring the life out of me, not knowing where you were or if you were alive, because you _feel_ like I didn’t care! You could’ve bloody asked me!” Mycroft shouts, red in the face. Sherlock feels stunned by the sharpess of his words. It makes Sherlock crumble with guilt.

            He didn’t plan to go out and get into drugs, and he didn’t want to blame his brother. It wasn’t Mycroft’s fault that Sherlock got mixed up with wrong people and wrong things and wrong places. He didn’t mean to shut out his parents, and then Mycroft, and then _anyone_. He…didn’t.

            Sherlock felt himself give a small sob, he didn’t want to do that. The first one was followed by another, but he stopped it at that. He didn’t want to cry, not about this. Not again.

            “Mycroft, I’m so sorry.” Sherlock wipes his face by bringing his tshirt up from over his belly and dabbing it to his eyes. The action makes Mycroft snort, and when Sherlock looks over to him, Mycroft’s eyes are teary as well.

            “Silly.” Mycroft leans over to wipe his brother’s face, the bits of tears that Sherlock had missed. “I almost don’t want to have that serious talk with you after all of this. You’ve had enough emotions for one night, I think.”

            “Am I off the hook, then?” Sherlock chuckles.

            “What? For our chat about John?” Mycroft rolls his eyes. “For god’s sake, Sherlock. No, not at all off the hook.”

            “It was worth a try.” The younger jokes.

            “Yes, I suppose it was.” Mycroft laughs. “We can wait a while, though.”

            “Good.” Sherlock feels the urge to be little beginning to wash over him. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for that again yet, but…he let that wave crash over him. And, Mycroft sensed it, his face softened further and he reached to pet his brother’s curls.

            “Hello again, little one.” He greets the little boy as he returns once more. “How are you feeling?”

            The boy mumbles something in return, but Mycroft doesn’t know what he’s said.

            “Speak up, Sherlock.” Michael prompts gently.

            “Want to say thank you.” Sherlock repeats, avoiding his brother’s eyes.

            “Oh, well you may.” Mycroft doesn’t get what Sherlock means, and the boy knows this, responding by rolling his eyes.

            Sherlock turns and to his brother and presses a kiss into his cheek, it’s not where he’d best like to say thank you, but it’s nearly enough and that’s that. Again, like earlier, Mycroft’s face heats incredibly. He turns to his brother and gently taps his fingers to the tip of the boy’s nose.

            “You keep doing that.” Mycroft says, watching the boy’s eyes cross as they follow the finger to his nose. Sherlock blinks to correct his crossed vision and then he gives a wide smile, glad that Mycroft’s noticed his thank you’s. “Why?”

            “Why what?” Sherlock reaches up to take his brother’s finger in a strong grip, Mycroft lets him.

            “Well,” Mycroft shrugs. “Why have I been gifted such lovely kisses from such a lovely young lad?”

            “I was saying ‘thank you’ to Brother.”

            “Yes, but why?”

            “For…” Sherlock’s brow furrows then unfurrows. “For spending time with Little ‘Lock.”

            Mycroft’s heart does amazing things in reaction to the incredibly cute response.

            “ _Little Lock_ ,” Mycroft repeats. “I never use the word _cute_ , but _that_ oh my word. That was the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

            Sherlock again gives his brother an enormous grin. He’s pleased to have given his brother a reason to use the word ‘cute’. Sherlock takes a moment to store that fact into his mind palace before going back to finish drinking his (now cool) honey soy milk.


	111. Corner of My Mind

            Mycroft left Sherlock alone in the den while he went to go make phone calls. Sherlock didn’t know what the phone calls were about, because he was in his little space and he didn’t bother attempting to eavesdrop. However, as Mycroft peeked his head into the den periodically to check on his brother, Sherlock overhead different languages on his brother’s tongue. Some of the languages he understood, others he didn’t.

            This particular time that Mycroft peeked his head into the den, Sherlock heard his brother speaking English. “Yes, mine and Sherlock’s parents are supposed to be coming into town this weekend.” The older brother says into his mobile. “However, something has come up and we might not be able to visit with them.” There’s a pause as Mycroft listens to the other person on the phone, the pause is followed by genuine laughter. “Maybe I should make John Watson entertain them for the weekend while Sherlock and I deal with the other inconvenience. It seems that neither Sherlock nor myself wish to be bothered by our parents.”

            _That’s true._ Sherlock thinks to himself. _Only parents I want is Daddy._

            “Whenever our parents insist on seeing at least _one_ of us,” Mycroft continues, then turns down the hall to walk back to his office. “Sherlock and I tend to play ‘hot potato’ all the way up until Mummy and Daddy arrive and they spring onto whichever of us isn’t well hidden enough.”

            Mycroft’s voice then trails off from the den as he gets further away. Sherlock did notice that his brother sounded very…comfortable with whoever it was he was talking on the phone to. He wondered who was sat at the other end, being able to hear Mycroft be that relaxed. Sherlock wondered if it was Lestrade, because he’s heard his brother talk that casually to Lestrade. However, as Mycroft came to peek into the den five more minutes later, Sherlock heard his brother call the other person ‘Greg’ so it couldn’t have been Lestrade, his name wasn’t Greg, little Sherlock knew that much.

            It was another twenty minutes before Mycroft finished his queue of phonecalls, and returned to the den. This time, he slid the doors closed, sealing them inside. Sherlock felt a jolt of eletrictiy shoot through him. The spark made him want to run and hide. This wasn’t a good spark.

            Mycroft could see the fear-stricken look on his brother’s face.

            “Sherlock,” The older brother moved to one of the sofas. “Come here.”

            “No, no thank you.” Is the boy’s response.

            “You need to.”

            “No, I can't.”

            "Why ever not?" Mycroft inquires. 

            "My legs broked." Sherlock explains. And, at any other time, Mycroft would've chuckled at how adorably small Sherlock's behaviour is. But, not now.

            “Do you want to be in trouble? You’re not listening to brother, that's being naughty.” Mycroft’s tone is thick, stern. “I don’t want to have to spank you before this important talk. But, I will if this defiant behaviour continues.”

            Sherlock’s eyes widen, then move to My. However, the owl offers no comfort. My simply says ‘ _you better do what he says, or else your butt is gonna get it_ ’. Sherlock didn’t want a spanking. Would Mycroft really do it, right now? Usually, Sherlock didn’t doubt that anyone who would threaten him with a spanking would do it. But, right now, Brother knows that Sherlock is a bit fragile. And, that makes him doubt that Mycroft would actually administer him a spanking. Still, Sherlock didn’t want to take that chance.

            The little boy pushes himself off the floor, gathering up My and toddling over to where his brother was. He stands before his brother, with eyes downcast to his bare toes.

            “Sherlock, we need to have this talk now.” Mycroft says, offering his brother a hand. “I feel like I’ve been saying it forever, and you know how much I dislike repeating myself. Besides, you keep asking me to tell you what you’re feeling, and I’d like to now.”

            “Can’t you just tell me, and not discuss it?” Sherlock still sounds small, he takes his brother’s offered hand. He’s pulled forward by Mycroft, and Sherlock takes the hint to sit down beside him. “There’s no point in discussing whatever it is.”

            “There _is_ a point.”

            “What is it, then?” Sherlock’s voice is slowly slipping back into his normal one. But, the hesitancy and the way it shakes, makes Sherlock still sound quite small. “You want me to be humiliated? You want to talk to me about how I shouldn’t feel this way? How it’s dangerous?”

            “Well…not really.”

            “Then, go on. Bloody tell me, Mycroft.” Sherlock is no longer little. His heart is beating so hard that he can feel it in his throat, and at the tips of his fingers. It almost hurts. He desperately wants to be little, so he can cry and shout and force this icky heart from his body. He doesn’t want it anymore. It’s malfunctioning, it’s cluttered, it’s not well.

            “I won’t tell you until you calm down.”

            “I’m calm!”

            “You are shouting, brother.”

            “Because, you won’t tell me!” Sherlock accuses him with a pointed finger. “You, John, Mrs. Hudson! All of you! The lot of you dangle this information in front of me like a piece of meat! You all know what’s wrong with me, but none of you have the fucking gall to just _come out with it_! It’s a secret, it’s hush, hush! I’m just a baby, so I couldn’t _possibly_ understand what’s going on with my heart!”

            “Sher-“

            “I’m not a baby _all the time_! I’m perfectly able to understand this!” He is still shouting. “Or, I _would_ be capable! If someone would tell me! _Holy shit_ , is it that hard to explain? Are there diagrams? Power points? A manual! Where is this mighty well of knowledge, so I can drink it dry?”

            “Sherlock Holmes!”

            “Tell me!”

            “Put that dummy in your mouth and _shut up_!” Mycroft loses his Holmesian cool. Just for a moment. Like last time, out on the bench moments ago, Mycroft loses his temper, but only for a second.

            Sherlock stares at him wide eyed, and unaware of the small whimper he gives as he reaches for the dummy clipped to his shirt and pops it into his own mouth without question. He suckles at it and grips his owl. He’s not little, not at all. But, these comforts are welcome.

            “Brother,” Mycroft clears his throat. “I don’t quite think I’ve heard you say ‘holy shit’ since you were fifteen and I gave you an antique book containing old autopsy records for your birthday.”

            “Mummy scolded me terribly for that.” Sherlock recalls, absentmindedly brushing his fingers through My’s feathers.

            “She did.” Mycroft nods, pats Sherlock's knee. “Right, anyway…”

            “Yes.”

            Mycroft uncrosses his legs and turns to face Sherlock. The younger reflexively suckles his dummy harder at this motion. This motion meant that Mycroft was about to…tell him now.

            “I…met her on a business trip.” Mycroft begins, and Sherlock’s eyebrows come together. “Quite a few years ago…well, not _that_ long ago…approximately six years, two months, and eleven days ago. We met.”

            _Are you keeping track or did you just calculate that?_ Sherlock wonders. _Either way, it’s eerily accurate and I’m not sure what to think of this. But, do go on. And, who are we talking about?_

"Though we met a while ago," Mycroft hums. "The past two years were the most serious for us..."

_In the corner of my mind, I hear the sound of footsteps crossing a room. The sound of someone taking a seat.  The person is settling into an arm chair. Small person, not heavy set, they grunt slightly as they sit. I know who it is. It’s John. Why John? Another interruption of John in mind, like earlier._

    “When we met, like I said, I was simply going for business. I was to fly to…another country.” Mycroft is careful not to disclose which country. But, Sherlock works it out that approximately six years, two months, and eleven days ago, Mycroft was heading to Korea. North or south, Sherlock doesn’t remember. But, what story is his brother telling? What does this have to do with himself and John.

            _In the corner of my mind, sitting in his armchair, I hear John chuckle._

_“Just, pay attention, you clot.” John says to me fondly. So, I do. I pay attention._

            “The flight was fine, and I had the meeting I was meant to have.” Mycroft gives dull details that he wouldn't normally give. He's talking in a way that demonstrates his nervousness about discussing the matter. “After the meeting, I was antsy. Not feeling like staying in the hotel, I decided to have a look about the area. Exhausting my patiences with simple sight seeing, wanted something else to do. I decided to have a meal…”

            “ _No surprise there.” John comments, and we both laugh. It occurs to me now, that I’m in the 221B of my mind palace. Which, makes sense. That’s why John’s chair is here. As is mine, as is the rest of our living room. Our flat._

            “I didn’t have to hesitate whilst walking around. Not many people ever notice me here, it’s comforting.” Mycroft continues. “I go to a less torristy part of town, via a cab. And, upon arriving to a small family-own establishment…a woman serves me.”

            _“Woman waitress? Not uncommon, why is he telling me this?” I mutter before sitting down into my own chair across from John. He turns his head to look at me._

_“Are you really so **dim**?” John arches a brow, a grin of disbelief on his face. “Why would Mycroft ever tell you about a woman? About anyone, for that matter?”_

_“Because, he’s boring.”_

_“No, because he finds this person important.” John points at me. “And, who else does he find important?”_

_“You.” I reply._

_“Me?” He seem surprised. “Sherlock, why me?”_

_“Good question, John!” I spit, not really meaning to snap at John. He flinches at my tone. “Why **you**? You make me feel…” I shake my head. “Why you? Why do you do this to me?”_

_“You know why. You do the same to me, don’t you?”_

_“Do I?”_

_“You didn’t answer my question from before.” John changes the subject back. “Who does Mycroft Holmes care about?”_

_“Well-“_

_“Don’t say me. Because, while I’m flattered…that’s not really who I was getting at.”_

_“Is he still talking, by the way?” I mirror John, cross my legs._

_“Of course he is.” John nods. “It’s all going into your ‘Mycroft’ file, I’m sure.”_

_“Good.” I roll my eyes. “Easily disposeable information, then.”_

_“I really do think you should listen.” John’s tone is somewhat sing-songy._

_“Then, stop distacting me.”_

_“Make me.”_

“Sherlock, are you listening?” Mycroft frowns at his brother. The detective blinks a few times.

            “Korean woman, waitress, also has an office job. Waitressing is just something she enjoys doing, which her family appreciated because it supports the family business. She cares about her family, very much. She's not very wealthy. You ate at her family’s restaurant every day you stayed in Korea, only to see her. You were refreshed at the fact that she didn’t know who you were, and that she didn’t give two figs about the British Government, in which you are heavily engraved."  
 Sherlock spills all the newly added information from his Mycroft file that, Mind Palace John, was right about.

            _“Do you get it now? Did you just hear anything that you just said?” This version of John is wearing a plaid shirt under a wine coloured jumper. He looks good. His hair is neat, silver and gold. His jeans are dark, but not black. His feet are only in socks, but that's happened just recently. I’ve watched him slip the shoes off._

_“Get what? What is there to get?” My eyes are still on John’s feet, I’m not sure why that is. They’re easier to look at than his eyes._

_“This woman is important to him, you arse.” John brings his feet up onto his chair. He doesn’t usually do this. Why does this version of John curl up like this? What does it mean? Does it mean that I wish he would do this in person? What difference could it make?_

_“Oh…” I do get it now. This is…_

_“The woman Mycroft wanted to marry.”_

_“That’s why he was making frequent trips to_ _Korea_ _, then.” I think, pressing my hands together. “He said it was involved in very early preparations for the elections.”_

_“And, you stupidly believed him.”_

_“I just…didn’t care, really.” I looks up at John’s face now. “Don’t mock me, John.”_

_“Too late, already did.”_

_“Shut up.”_

_“Make me.” He says again, he’d said that earlier. Why is he saying that?_

            “We had an incredible companionship. It was comfortable, I'd never felt that comfortable with another person. And, she had such patience and offered such comfort." Mycroft remenices vibrantly. Sherlock feels a bit unsettled by seeing Mycroft...acting so... _humanly_. "I felt complete with her, Sherlock. That sort of thing is hard to find...especially for people like us.” Mycroft tells his brother honestly. “Everything was better, and I wanted nothing more than to keep her safe. And, I kept…hiding her away because of that. We snuck around like teenagers. At first, it was fun. It was a risk, and it was exciting. But, years passed, Sherlock.”

            The younger brother is listening distantly. The information is going in, but he’s not really practicing ‘active listening’. He takes the information in, then processes it moments later.

            “When she felt that I cared more for her safety, than for her…it made her feel…” Mycroft’s throat tightens. “It made _me_ feel, that I had failed somewhere. That I hadn’t conveyed my true intentions. I couldn’t believe that I’d been so _foolish_.”

            “Why would she take your protection as an insult?”

            “She didn’t, not really.”

            “Then, why would she leave you over it?”

            “Because, Sherlock, people can’t wait forever. They won’t.”

            “I would.” Sherlock shakes his head. “If this _love_ is so grand, so rare. Something people steal for, _kill_ for. Those sorts of things, why not wait?”

            “Because, love waits, but real life keeps moving.” Mycroft explains. “Life began pulling her away, because I was no longer running at her speed. Her family was pressuring her to marry. They were pressuring her to marry, have children and settle down so that she could support her aging parents."

            "What do those things have to do with you?"

            "Everything, Sherlock. I want to...wanted to be with her." Mycroft says. "Those things, I was ready for. I believed that I was. I’m sure I was in some ways…but, I’m a target, Sherlock.”

            “Yes.” Sherlock found himself saying, but he doesn’t know why.

            “My wife and my family would’ve been even bigger targets, my pressure points.” The auburn haired male sighs shakily. “I kept waiting for the right time. The right time to marry. The right time to settle down, just a bit. But, the time still hasn’t come, and she’s moved on, now.”

            “She has married?”

            “I’ve been afraid to investigate.”

            “Ah, I see.”

            “However, I don't have to. She sent me a letter detailing me, that in fact…she’s gotten married last year. Their first child is due soon.” Mycroft feels a bit ill as his stomach waltzes and his heart does the same. It’s dizzying, sickening, that feeling is. “I lost, Sherlock. I lost the greatest game there is to play, because I was afraid. Because I didn’t take the chances I was given.”

            _“What does this has to do with me, though!?” I look over at John. “I feel sorry for Mycroft, I really do! But, why is he telling me this??”_

_“He doesn’t want you to lose me.” John isn’t looking at me anymore. Rather, he’s picking at the fabric covering the arm of his chair._

_“What?” I feel myself frowning._

            “Sherlock, John Watson loves you.” Mycroft takes a deep breath. “He really, truly does. All parts of you.”

            “Yes…I know.” Sherlock replies wearily. “He tells me.”

            “He’s waiting for you, and I don’t want…him to…” Mycroft struggles a bit. “I don’t want you to have this feeling. To go through this loss, Sherlock.”

            “You lost someone you were in love with, Mycroft.” Sherlock sounds angry. “That was _your_ fault! You’re the one who told me that ‘all hearts were broken’ and that ‘caring isn’t an advantage’! You knew what that love was, and you always gave me reasons not to partake in it!”

            “Sher-“

            “Well, guess what? You played the most dangerous game that there is to play!” Sherlock points at him. “You played, you lost. Mycroft, you know better than to gamble in the first place. So, why the hell would you gamble with your _heart_?” He jabs his pointed finger to Mycroft’s chest. His brother doesn’t flinch, only frowns.

            “I didn’t chose it, Sherlock.”

            “You kept going to see her!” Sherlock’s voice raises even more. “You gave into the temptation, bit by bit!”

            “What about you and John?” Mycroft raises a brow. “Huh? What about you two?”

            “About us? What?”

            “Why did you fall in love with John Watson?”

            Sherlock sputters a noise in disbelief. “I’m not in love with _John_? Or with anyone!”

            _“Sherlock,” I hear John’s weight shifting, then moving out of his seat. “Do you remember?”_

_“What?” There is panic in my blood as he approaches. “D-Don’t, John…”_

_“Don’t what?” John stops, standing in the space between our chairs. “I’m not going to hurt you.”_

_“But, you will.” I can feel tears welling in my eyes. I don’t want them. I don’t like to cry. “John, you will hurt me.”_

_“Why would I?” John takes another few steps closer. “I see you.”_

_This version of John said that to me before. He said it repeatedly until I shouted at him. What does that **mean**? _

_“You say that to me, but it doesn’t mean anything.” I tell him, he’s still approaching me. “Why do you say that?”_

_“I see you.” John is right in front of me. Our legs are touching. He’s close, too close, not close enough. He is so many things. “Sherlock, why do you think I will hurt you?”_

_“We’ll end up like Mycroft…and…you’ll get tired of me. Then, I’ll lose the most important person.” I look into his eyes. “Why the hell do you think it’s called human **error**.”_

_“What?”_

_“John,” I don’t avert my eyes from his. “What is an error?”_

_“A…mistake?”_

_“Yes!” I rise from my seat, this version of John stumbles away from me. “An error is a malfunction, miscalculation! It means that something’s gone wrong! You use a computer everyday, you’ve seen system errors before!”_

_“But-“ He stops short when I move past him, to the open part of our living area. “How could I have been so blind? So stupid. Why doesn’t this news surprise me??”_

_“You already knew.”_

_“I did not.”_

_“You’ve kept yourself from seeing it.” John sits back into his seat. Was he about to kiss me? Is that why he came near? "But, you feel it, don't you? Sherlock you love me."_

__“_ I don't fall in love. I know better." I can hear my loud heart thrumming throughout the palace. It's deafening. John is saying more to me, but I can't hear it over the noise now. "This feeling is temporary. Love is temporary. It will go away. It will pass." Can John hear me? This version of John, anyway. I don't think he can anymore. Maybe that's a good thing._

__If_  I hadn’t gotten up from my seat, would he have kissed me? It wouldn’t matter. None of this is real. The real John is at home, in bed. Thinking that I don’t know I love him. Do I love him? Just because Mycroft said that I do, it doesn’t make it so. _

Sherlock’s eyes open, and…he is suddenly very warm. He feels constricted. Why? Something is holding him. Something warm. Smells of rich cologne. Mycroft.

            “You’re back, then?” Mycroft pets his brother’s hair. “You kept leaving, so I let you go inside your head for a bit.”

            “H-how long?”

            “Doesn’t matter.”

            “Ok.” Sherlock doesn’t argue.

            “What happened?”

            “Hm?”

            “Inside your head,” Mycroft is speaking slowly, softly. “What happened?”

            “I saw John.”

            “Yes,” Mycroft says. “I thought you might. What happened?”

            “He…kept saying what he said last time.”

            “Which is?”

            “That…he sees me.” Sherlock shakes his head. “I’ve absolutely no idea what that means.”

            “Would you like to find out?”

            “I don’t think so.” Sherlock leans into his brother’s chest. He doesn’t care if he’s big or small. He doesn’t care how silly it must look. “I’m not in love with John. I don’t think so.”

            “But, you are.”

            “Why?”

            “The same reason I fell in love.” Mycroft scratches Sherlock’s scalp. “We met incredible people and they caught us off guard.”

            “So…” Sherlock pauses. “The feeling in my chest, that ache? The swell?”

            “You love John.”

            Sherlock runs that possibility over in his head. “It doesn’t make sense, I don’t believe it. Even if so, it's all temporary.”

            Mycroft doesn’t say anything.

            “Being in love, is supposed to feel _good_ isn’t it?” Sherlock asks.

            “You feel good when you’re with him, don’t you?”

            “Do I?”

            “How could I possibly know?” Mycroft snorts.

            “You know everything else, it seems.” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “John is in love with me?”

            “Terribly so.”

            “How do you know?”

            “He looks at you the way I looked at her.” Mycroft is still scratching Sherlock’s scalp.

            Sherlock’s chest hurts. It just hurts. Nothing feels good. If anything, it all feels _worse_. Because, this feeling of longing has not grown or shrunk. However, he is now feeling _more_ than that. The confusion has transformed into speculation. The longing is now also being crowded by dread, regret, and…shame, is it? Sherlock feels like he’s made a fatal mistake, allowing himself to fall in love with John (if he has). And, he feels this way for having allowed John to fall in love with _him_. Error. **Human error**.

            “I want to go home.” Sherlock says.

            “Not yet.”

            “Is our talk over?”

            “Do you have anything more to say?” Mycroft’s fingers have yet to leave Sherlock’s curls.

            “No.”

            “I suppose it’s over then.”

            “Ok.”

            “I thought you’d have more to say…to be honest.”

            “I don’t.” Sherlock is silent for just a moment. “I’m scared. I don’t want this. I never wanted this. I was so foolish, now John will have to suffer.”

            “Do not push him away.” Mycroft’s arm around Sherlock middle tightens. “It’ll hurt you both.”

            “I’m not made for things like this.” Sherlock shakes his head. “There is no logic here.”

            “Maybe…there shouldn’t have to be. Logic seems to ruin these things.”

            “Then, how do I make sense of it?”

            “You can’t.”

            “That only confirms the fact that I don’t like it.” Sherlock closes his eyes, leans his head into Mycroft’s chest, where he never thought he’d feel such comfort again. “What happens when I tell John what you’ve told me?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “He will expect things from me, that he’s never expected before.”

            “Not true.”

            “He’ll want a relationship.”

            “You already have one.”

            “ _God,_ I’m stupid.” Sherlock hisses. “And, no we don’t 'already' have one.”

            “You’ve been in a relationship with John Watson, without either of your knowledge, for quite some time. Don’t pretend that you didn’t know.”

            “False.”

            “Why were you kissing him? If not feelings…love, and that?”

            “Because…it made me feel…like I was John’s.”

            “There is the answer to my question.”

            “What?”

            “You, Sherlock.” Mycroft says. “You want to be John Watson’s. You want to be his, you want to be _with_ him. You love him.”

            “Oh…my god. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_.” Sherlock scolds himself. “I can’t go back to the flat. Ever. I can’t face him. He must think I’m so stupid. Even _he_ saw this before I did.”

            “He’s not an idiot.”

            “Mycroft…”

            “Fine, he’s not _such_ an idiot.” Mycroft corrects himself. “Give him credit, though what he saw was fairly obvious.”

            “I feel dumb.”

            “Don’t.”

            “Stupid, I’m so stupid.” Sherlock continues his self scolding. “Did you feel this way, when you notice that you fell in love?”

            “Somewhat.” Mycroft admits. “I noticed that I was falling. I tried resisting…a bit. But, it happened anyway and I just…let it happen. It was bliss. Ridiculous, ordinary people, bliss.”

            “Lucky you, then.”

            “Why?

            “I feel anything _but_ bliss, right now.” Sherlock closes his eyes. Sighs.

            “You will feel it, next time you are with John.”

            “…Promise?”

            “I do.”


	112. Toilet Paper, Loo Paper, Bog Roll (Make)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey. Just a heads up?
> 
> Sherlock, ummmmm goes potty in this one. I'd mentioned in my last update that Sherlock was going to 'clear his system' during this visit. This is what I meant by that. If the title of this chapter didn't kind of hint at that.  
> Nothing graphic or explicit. Don't worry. 
> 
> Poor Mycroft, though.  
> He's such a proper thing, and absolutely out of his element with having to 'help' Sherlock with this.  
> Thanks for trying to be a good sport, Mycroft. You've done well.

            When Sherlock finally caught a glance of the time, he was surprised. It was late. Quite late. And, he wondered if John was awake. John.

            John Watson. The John Watson that he was…in love with?

            That doesn’t sound right, it doesn't feel right. It can’t be right. Was Mycroft correct? Would it feel right when he sees John again? Will he feel bliss? Sherlock rarely ever felt bliss, or so he thought. But, usually, any ‘blissful’ feelings were ruined by his brain. That’s why he liked being high. His brain never had a chance to interrupt. It was turned off.

            “Give me one.”

            “No.”

            “Just one, I don’t care about your ‘low tar’ thing.” Sherlock demands. “Just, give me one.”

            “I said no, Sherlock.” Mycroft pushes his little brother off of his chest, annoyed. “You should get some sleep, you have clients tomorrow.”

            “I need a cigarette, Mycroft. Just **one**.” _Also, who wants to sleep? Sleep is dull._

            “One? And then, what?”

            “I’ll be calm.”

            “No, you’ll stink of cigarette smoke and want another one.” Mycroft folds his arms. “I’d might’ve said ‘yes’ to your request on any other day. But, you’re on edge and you’ve had an emotional day.”

            “You’re useless.” Sherlock flops himself away from his brother and enters sulk mode. “I know where you keep them, and I can simply go get them myself.”

            “Do you honestly think I’d let you?”

            “I’d like to see you try and stop me.”

            “You even _dare_ to try that, and I _will_ spank you.” Mycroft warns, Sherlock hesitates responding at all.

            “I’m…not little, so you couldn’t.” Sherlock peeks over his shoulder to stick his tongue out at Mycroft.

            “You seem pretty childish to me.” Mycroft stands up. “Oh wait, that’s normal.”

            Sherlock goes back into his sulking, attempting to ignore the pressure in his stomach. He feels his full bladder, but, there’s pressure lower as well. It’s uncomfortable and he doesn’t like the feeling. Though, he knows what it means. He rolls his eyes, Sherlock doesn’t want to do _that_. He never does. It’s tedious, time consuming and…ugh. Why are living things so boring? They die if they don’t eliminate. That’s dull. And, the process of elimination is even more dull and unpleasant.

            The younger listens to Mycroft walk around the den. Mycroft is picking up the things from Sherlock’s nappy bag, returning them to their pockets. He’d wanted to do this earlier, but…never gotten around to it. Sherlock is glad Mycroft is distracted. It allows him to feel as though he has some privacy, and slowly begins to let his bladder relax. This causes him to shudder, he isn’t sure why it has made him do so. Maybe it’s the feeling of relief. His bladder is no longer full, and that allows Sherlock to rest himself further into the sofa.

            Mycroft was right to tell Sherlock to sleep. He was tired, now that he was allowing himself to be silent. To rest a bit. And, he might’ve fallen asleep right then, if he didn’t need to, um, go. He shouldn’t have wet his nappy. That made his body think that it was alright for everything to abandon ship. Which, it wasn’t.

            _You should tell him._ My suggested, voice muffled, as Sherlock is basically laying on top of the owl. Hearing My speak helps Sherlock slip into little space, which is where Sherlock was already heading anyway.

            “Tell who what?” Sherlock whispers as he pulls his stuffed friend from under his body.

            _Your brother, silly._

“Brother?” Sherlock asks My, looking up to see Mycroft admiring some things on one of the shelves in this den. “Tell him what, My?”

            _That you need to go potty._

            “Why?”

            _Beats me._ My says. _That’s what good boys do, I guess._

            “But…going on the potty…is…” Sherlock didn’t like being alone in the bathroom. The bathroom is a cold, echoy place. Being alone was bad enough, but in a place like the bathroom? Worse than being in time out.

            _If you go in your nappy, Brother is going to have to change you. And…that’d be awkward._

“That’s…true, My.”

            _Still, you’re just a little boy. Having a messy nappy is ok, that’s what Daddy says._

“I miss Daddy.” Sherlock whispers to his snowy owl. “Brother told me stuff, My.”

            _Like what?_

“He says that I love Daddy.”

            _What kind of love?_

            “Grown up love.”

            _That’s yuckier than a messy nappy, to me._

            “I know. I don’t like it.”

            _Is it true? Do you love Daddy? Like…a grown up?_

“I think…big me might.”

            _Are you gonna marry Daddy?_

            Sherlock’s eyes widen and he giggles into My’s belly. “Don’t be silly, My!”

            _Grownups marry each other when they’re in love._

            The boy’s eyes get even wider. “They do?”

            _Duh._ My does an eye roll.

            “You think Daddy would wanna marry me?”

            _Maybe not…any time soon. Grownups have to be together and figure stuff out first. Don’t they?_

“I guess…”

            _Daddy might marry you later on._

            “What if he doesn’t?”

            _How should I know? I’m an owl._

            “Do owls get married?” Sherlock sits up, shifting a bit because of his wet nappy between his legs.

            _I dunno, I’ll ask around._

            “You won’t. Don’t lie, My.”

            _Sorry._

            “It’s ok…” Sherlock grimaces as he feels the pressure in his stomach increasing. “Ow, ow, ow…” The little boy shifts again.

            “Are you alright?” Mycroft looks over his shoulder at his brother. He’d been eavesdropping on the little boy’s conversation. Not all of it. Only the things about John.

            “N-no.” For some reason, Sherlock feels like crying. He’s embarrassed, maybe. But, the pressure in his stomach isn’t pleasant either and that’s a problem too.

            “Oh, dear boy…” Mycroft sees the pain on his brother’s face. “What’s the matter?”

            “Um.” Sherlock isn’t sure what to say. He wishes My could talk for him. But, big people can’t hear My. The little boy points to his tummy, and hopes that maybe Mycroft would get the idea.

            “Tummy ache? Was it the bottle, do you think?”

            _No, Sherlock is just stubborn and doesn’t like having bowel movemnts so he put it off forever and now he’s paying for it._ The owl answers from its spot on the sofa. Sherlock glares at My, then turns back to his brother.

            “I…need to make.” Sherlock blushes furiously, wishing he was holding his owl to hide his face in.

            “Make?” Mycroft’s eyebrows knit, but he assumes what Sherlock means. “Let’s go potty, then.”

            “Um. Ok. Thanks.” Sherlock hurries to his feet. Mycroft had several bathrooms, and wasn’t sure which one his brother wanted him to go to. “Mycroft, need t’hurry!”

            “I’m coming, I’m coming.” Mycroft approaches, carrying the nappy bag. Sherlock isn’t sure why. He doesn’t care at the moment.

            Mycroft leads Sherlock down a hall, and into a rather nice bathroom. It’s spacious and has gold detailing on all of the faucets, water dials, shower heads. Those things. The tiles are peach. And, the counters tops are marble, peach coloured as well.

            Sherlock steps inside, Mycroft stops at the door, and is about to shut it when Sherlock screams. Not…shouts or yells, but a high pitched _scream_. Not one of fear or terror, but…in warning.

            “Don’t!” Sherlock screams.

            “You…want me to leave the door open?”

            “No, in! In, in, in!” Sherlock is dancing in place, and he looks so very small. Like an actual child, Mycroft can only stare.

            “I’m…not coming into the restroom with you, Sherlock…while you ‘make’.”

            “Need you to! Please, please, please? Gotta go potty real bad!” Sherlock is whining. He still feeling quite toddlerish. It’s apparent in the way he talks. Uses much more words, and his voice doesn’t get as small as when Sherlock is very little.

            “Fine, fine.” Mycroft sighs and steps into the room. But, doesn’t go too far into it.

            “Thank you!” Sherlock is hardly embarrassed at all as he flees across the room…to sit and…yeah.

            Mycroft on the other hand, couldn’t be more red if he tried. His eyes are distant, like he’s far from the bathroom now, far from the house even. He’s not only staring off into space, but his hands are clinched into fists at his sides.   

            Sherlock is still sat across the room, singing and kicking his feet. Mycroft is still stiff as a board. Hollow even. A breeze could probably knock Mycroft Holmes over.

            Mycroft isn’t sure how much time has passed, but eventually, he hears Sherlock call him.

            “Brother, done!” Sherlock sounds proud.

            “Lovely.”

            “Need help, now. Please?”

            Mycroft could die. “With what?”

            “Um…” Again, Sherlock doesn’t know how to say it. He unrolls way too much toilet paper and sits it in his lap. “Bog roll.” He states, calling it ‘bog roll’ because that’s what Daddy calls it. Sometimes it’s ‘loo paper’ but, Daddy mostly calls it ‘bog roll’.

            Mycroft finally looks over at his brother. “For god’s sake! Why’d you unravel so m-“

            “I’m sorry!” Sherlock apologizes immediately. “I just want to show you what I meant and-“

            “It’s fine, it’s fine…” Mycroft doesn’t want his brother to feel bad. But, this was a bit ridiculous. “It’s fine.”

            “I…can do it myself. I think.” Sherlock sounds unsure as he begins tearing off lesser sheets from the pile of toilet paper in his lap.

            “No, no…let big brother help you, Sherlock.” Mycroft sighs, setting the nappy bag on the counter.

            “Really?”

            “Yes, really.”

            “Um…also, my nappy is wet.” Sherlock says sheepishly. "Need new one, M'croft."

            “Splendid.” Mycroft took out the packet of wipes, as well as a new nappy for Sherlock.


	113. Pleasantly Hellish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello!
> 
> Chapters 106-113 today!
> 
> This update was a long time coming. I'm glad this bit is over with!  
> Mind Palace John scares me though! I don't know why.  
> I just don't want Sherlock moving all his feelings inwardly towards MP!John, and shutting himself off from real John.  
> Because, Sherlock doesn't want those feelings, or to deal with them. Pushing them deeper into his palace to MP!John would be an easy out for him in that regard. Sherlock better not do that. I swear, Sherlock. YOU BETTER NOT. 
> 
> I'm so sorry, ignore me. 
> 
> As Always,  
> Thanks for being absolutely lovely and reading this story. <3  
> ~TJL (^_^)"/"

            System cleared, and in a clean nappy, Sherlock trots enthusiastically around Mycroft’s halls. He’s gotten loads of energy, even though he’s admittedly sleepy. Mycroft knows he’s tired, so he’s letting his brother burn the last bits of his energy, in hopes that they can both get some good sleep. The older brother is standing at the end of the hall that Sherlock is running up and down. He’s on his phone, checking and answering emails. He glances up at Sherlock every once in a while, only to see his brother as a blur, running towards or away from him.

            In the middle of reading an email, Mycroft feels his phone buzz with an incoming text.

 

            _How are things? –A_

_Anthea, why are you not sleeping? MH_

_I hadn’t really looked at the time, to be honest. How are things with your brother? –A_

_Pleasantly hellish, just as I had imagined. Sleep now. MH_

_Will you as well? –A_

_Let’s assume so. Thank you for checking on us. MH_

_Certainly, goodnight. –A_

_Yes, goodnight. MH_

            Anthea has been a good friend of Mycroft’s for a very long time. He met her a while after leaving Uni. Their companionship was a bit more of a ‘partners in crime’ deal, before things calmed down, and they both got very serious in their careers. Myrcroft is glad that he’s able to trust her with personal affairs. Such as…this.

            Mycroft looked up from his phone again to see Sherlock panting and sitting on the floor. “Tired yourself out yet?”

            “No.” Which means yes, the little boy is ever so ready to lie down with his Daddy and go to…

            “Are you aright?” Mycroft asks as his brother’s eyes get spacy.

            “I’ve…never slept without Daddy. Not for a long time.” Sherlock wrings his hands between one another.

            “It’s only for tonight.”

            “I know…”

            “We can either camp out in the den, or we can sleep in my bed…if you don’t wish to be alone.”

            “Camp out??” Sherlock gasps. “Yes, yes, yes! Let’s do that! I wanna do that! Brother, that! That, that, that!”

            “Alright, yes, ok.” Mycroft can’t help himself from smiling. “Silly, boy.”

~*~

            A sippy cup of juice, a bed time story, and several kisses on the cheek later, Sherlock is snoring, dummy in his mouth, inside of a blanket fort with his brother, and his owl. Mycroft is staring up at the ceiling of their fort. Both brothers are incredibly smart when it comes to tasks of building, engineering. Their blanket fort is very sturdy, and a bit spacious, width wise. The ceiling, on Mycroft’s end however, is quite low.

            Mycroft looks back on their childhood. He doesn’t remember Sherlock snoring. Had he when they were younger? Mycroft doesn’t remember, actually. Sherlock might’ve snored. Either way, it hardly matters now. He’s sleeping, and that’s all Mycroft could really ask for. His little brother was at peace for now.

            His own eyes were feeling very heavy. After setting an alarm on his phone for the morning, Mycroft allowed himself to fall into rest, listening to his brother's even snores and occasionally suckling noises of Sherlock’s dummy. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, wow, wow. So, someone's finally told Sherlock the truth and he still doesn't believe/accept it?  
> Don't worry, in the next update, Sherlock is going to return to John and 221B. Then, he's going to see John.  
> And, when he sees John, Sherlock is going to get that feeling...and then what happens? We'll have to see. 
> 
> Also, someone asked me about Lestrade and Mycroft?  
> Mycroft's heart is still in a way, after his dilemma with the woman he was to marry.  
> However, Greg is also getting through a divorce.  
> They'll find a good friend in each other, very soon. And, maybe, who knows what will happen after that?
> 
> Talk with you all very soon. <3


	114. Romance: By Definition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello!
> 
> Today's Chapters: 114 - 123  
> (chapter 114 is just a brief reflection of John's thoughts the night he spends drinking)
> 
> Who's been gone for ten years?  
> Me!
> 
> Who feels really bad about it?  
> Me!
> 
> I'm not going to give you a whole talk about what reasons I've been away. You all already know them. (Lack of computer, lack of brain)
> 
> So, in short: thank you to everyone (literally EVERYONE) who continued to read/support me in my absence. I've gotten all the messages/comments wishing me well and asking if I was alright. Even if I didn't respond (I'm going to!), those little check-ups really kept me going. 
> 
> As Always,  
> Thank you...for everything,  
> TJL
> 
> Seriously. I mean it. Thank you. I honestly don't know how to say it better.

 

 

**_I want to get to know you_.**

 

Sherlock had said this in the most sincere voice, and John had believed him. He had trusted that Sherlock wanted to get to know him, and to spend time with him. _With John_ , while they were both in their completely adult headspaces. John had wanted it more than anything, at that point.

 

John shouldn’t have been surprised when it didn’t happen. He and Sherlock hadn’t been entirely close while they were adults. Before little time became a thing they did.

 

He and Sherlock had been friends, good friends. After living together for years, it made sense. They solved crime together, and took care of each other in…platonic ways. Doing the shopping for one another, well John mostly did that. He patched Sherlock up if he ever got hurt on the job, he'd tell Sherlock when to calm down (Sherlock really needed that). John would giggle with Sherlock at crime scenes, though they shouldn't have. And, of course, John would remind Sherlock to eat or sleep.  Everything that Sherlock needed John to be, John was. Effortlessly, it seemed.

But, it was't just John taking care of Sherlock. Sometimes Sherlock would surprise John buy picking up a case of John's favorite beer, or the much needed milk. And, Sherlock would sometimes makes them tea. Or he’d play the violin to help John sleep or to ward off nightmares. Sherlock would wipe away missed traces of shaving foam from John’s face.

They lived in a comfortable rhythm, with a cautious amount of space between them.

 

Still, even then, before the spaces between them closed, John Watson was a bit dizzy over Sherlock Holmes. It happened slowly, the falling in love part. This didn’t just hit him like a wall of water and just come crashing over him.

 

No, John fell in love with Sherlock very slowly, and with one detail at a time. Falling in love, to John, meant feeling a jolt to his heart. When Sherlock let his hand linger over John’s after handing John his tea. Or, when Sherlock stared at him intently before asking him if he was alright. John fell in love with the way that Sherlock held his breath to keep from making a rude comment to a stranger, or his brother…Mrs. Hudson…Lestrade, Molly… _Anderson_ , Donovan…ok, then list goes on.

 

Granted, John didn’t really notice that he felt this way. Not until Sherlock closed the gap. Sherlock stepped over their boundaries – he _leapt_ over them. He rushed through John like a storm and consumed him. Every bit of John quickly became Sherlock’s. When the gap closed, John gave up everything; from his time, all the way to his heart.

 

When John accepted that Sherlock was more important to him than anything in the world, (during little time and outside of it)…John also realized that he loved Sherlock, in far too many ways to count. But, he tried to look at this, in a way that would make more sense. Because, he didn’t think being in love with Sherlock could make sense. He kept telling himself, that he loved Sherlock. But, not in a boyfriend way. And, that he loved Sherlock, but…he wasn’t in love with him. Because, being in love meant _romance_ , and as he and Sherlock knew, romance dies. That doesn’t last.

 

But, for fuck’s sake! There was _romance_! One of them had to acknowledge that there was _romance_! And, John acknowledges it entirely. There was flirting, there was racing hearts, there was them isolating themselves from the rest of the world because the rest of the world was too much and only they were enough. Only them. That’s romance, and it wasn’t a mistake or an error.

Maybe Sherlock should take another look at the definition of 'romance'.

 

> Romance 
> 
>  
> 
> a feeling of excitement and mystery associated with love.

 

Come on, Sherlock! What's wrong with romance? There can't be too much wrong with feeling excited about something as incredible as loving someone! And, what's wrong with mystery? Sherlock bloody Holmes loves mystery. It's his entire career! But, Sherlock wouldn’t understand that, would he? Could he? Would he let himself see that it’s ok to have romance, even if it would die? It would be okay for the mystery to die. The more that you get to know someone, the less mysterious they become. That's alright, that's normal, that's...good even? But, John Watson cannot honestly imagine not being excited --  _ **thrilled** _ to be absolutely in love with Sherlock Holmes. Not in any century or lifetime would that not be the most incredible thing. 

 

Eventually, the quickly beating hearts would fade to a warm glow, but a constant glow at that. And, maybe things won’t be as _exciting_ sometimes, but things will be comfortable and happy and light. Romance is what falling in love _feels_ like, not what being in love _is_.

 

Being in love feels like wrapping yourself in a warm blanket straight out the dryer. And, John would love to feel that every day. With Sherlock.

 

Why did Sherlock have to say something like that, though? “I’d like to spend time getting to know you” And then, not do it? If John was honest, his feelings were hurt. He felt hallowed out.

 

That’s why he tried to fill the empty spaces with alcohol.


	115. "Tut-Tut, I Say!"

            Sherlock woke up in a bit of a daze, and horribly confused as to why he was on the floor. And…he was also confused as to why, if _any_ floor, it wasn’t the floor of 221B. However, upon further observation, he gathers that this is the floor of Mycroft's den. The windowless room was quiet, other than Mycroft’s even breathing. Still asleep, then.

            He watched Mycroft sleep, just for a moment. _The most dangerous man you’ve ever met_ , Sherlock had told John after the doctor had first (unknowingly) met Mycroft Holmes. _Most dangerous_ _man_ , here he was, laying on the floor asleep inside of a blanket fort.  Sherlock breathes a small laugh at that.

            The detective sighs deeply, rolls onto his back. The den was quite dark. It’s a windowless room, and the doors were shut. The only light coming in is from the cracks around the door. Some light is also being emitted from a small lamp on the desk that Sherlock refused to let Mycroft turn out before sleeping. Sherlock was only comfortable sleeping in complete dark with his daddy.

            “Mycroft,” Sherlock nudged his brother, his deep, sleep graveled voice is carried by a yawn. “Myyyycroft.” The younger brother whined, beginning his descend into little space after not getting Mycroft's attention as his big brother continued to sleep. After more discontent whining, Mycroft finally grumbles a response. 

            “Hm?”

            “Can we get up now?”

            “Needn’t ask me.” Mycroft turned away from Sherlock, still quite asleep. “Do as you wish.”

            “But, I want you to be up, _too_.” He wanted attention, and he didn’t want to be alone. Even _My_ was sleeping.  “M’croft…”

            The older Holmes brother was already back to taking deep, even breaths. Back completely asleep already. Sherlock huffed, wiggling himself up and onto his hands and knees, ignoring the stiffness of his body from having slept on the floor.

            Sherlock crawled over to his brother. “Mycroft?” He shook him gently.

            “Hm?”

            “Up now, please?”

            “Mhm.” Mycroft hummed meaningless syllables and continued to sleep.

            “Brother…!” Sherlock whined, crawling onto  Mycroft. Sitting upon his brother’s torso, the little boy continued to whine. “Uppp!”

            Mycroft’s brow furrowed, eyes opening slowly. “For god’s sake, why are you on top of me?” He grumbled.

            “Time to get up, now.” Sherlock insisted. “Please, up? Brother up, now?”

            “Must we?” Mycroft reached for his mobile, squinting sleepily to see the time. His set alarm hadn’t gone off yet. He’d expected Sherlock to sleep longer. “It’s quite early…”

            “ _It’s quite early_!” The boy repeats, mocking his brother’s posh way of speaking.

            “I don’t sound like that…”

            “Tut-tut, I say! _I don’t sound like that_!” Sherlock brought himself into a fit of giggles.

            “You’re heavy.” Mycroft complained, attempting to sit up. “Goodness, I’m sore.”

            “You’re old, like Daddy.” Sherlock says, though he was quite sore upon waking up on the floor as well. “Oh, _right_! Daddy! When am I going to see Daddy? When am I going home? I kind of don’t want to…” The sentences came out rapid fire.

            Toddler Sherlock was so chatty. Quite cute, however too chatty for early in the morning. Mycroft sighed.

            “You have to see clients, Sherlock.” Mycroft explains. “So, you must return home eventually.”

            “That’s why I don’t wanna go home. There will be _people_.”

            “Well, it’s your own fault. You invited them.” Mycroft has stopped trying to sit up, and is instead looking up at the ceiling of their fort. His ‘ceiling’ was lower than that of Sherlock’s side. And, the boy’s head was pressing on the blanket ceiling on, because he’d straddled his big brother. Mycroft knows that if they’d built their structure anymore poorly, the fort would’ve fallen apart by now. He was proud that theirs had remained standing. Even with Sherlock’s curly head prodding at it.

            “ _Yeah_! I know that I invited them.” Sherlock says in an ‘obviously’ tone. “I only did that cuz there was…” He pauses. “I need a distraction from Daddy. Now, I don’t want stupid clients.”

            “Then, think it through next time.” Mycroft tries to sit up again. “Might you get off of me, now?”

            “Fine…” Sherlock removes himself from Mycroft. He sits in brooding silence until Mycroft finally gets up. Though, Sherlock’s reign of terror for the morning was only beginning.


	116. Slump

            Humming, Mrs. Hudson carries up a tray up to John and Sherlock’s flat. She’s especially pleased with these scones, and she can’t wait to see the look on the boys’ faces when they try them. Carefully balancing the tray, she opens the door to the living room, to see…

            “Dear me, John Watson.” She says under her breath. The doctor is asleep in his armchair, well, _mostly_ in his armchair. He’s beginning to sort of slump _out_ of it. “Couldn’t make it to bed, could we?” The older woman sighs as she sets the tray down on the coffee table…beside an empty bottle of liquor.

            With an apologetic expression on her face, she approaches John, shakes his shoulder gently. “John, dear?” She shakes him again. “John?”

            John startles and slides the rest of the way out of his chair and onto his bottom.

            “Oh…god…Mrs. Hudson, sorry…” John grumbles, voice croaky, mouth and throat dry. His heart is beating harshly from the fright, and that same bashing throb is taking place in his head. His head feels too heavy to tilt upwards to look at Mrs. Hudson. But, he does it all the same. “Goodmorning.” He greets her, attempting not to look as shitty as he feels. “It… _is_ morning, right?”

            “Yes, it is.” Mrs. Hudson pets his hair. “Had a long night, then?”

            “Um…yeah.” John stiffly moves his body from the floor, back into his chair as Mrs. Hudson begins tidying up the already rather spotless flat. The cleaning job that she and Sherlock did on it previously was undisturbed by John’s excessive drinking the night before.

            “Is Sherlock in the same way?” Mrs. Hudson inquires.  

            “Hm?”

            “Sherlock,” Mts. Hudson says. “How’s he? Must not be as bad as you, then. He’s already gone from the flat?”

            “Oh, no.” John waves one hand, the other is massaging at his forehead. “Mycroft did, er, the thing. He does. And all. Thing.”

            “Mycroft…is doing what?”

            _Being a prick._ John thinks.

            “Sherlock’s with him.” John tries his hand at explaining again, ignoring the sloshy feeling in his stomach.

            “He’s gone to _visit_ his brother?”

            “Visit? God no,” John wants to laugh at that, but he doesn’t think his head and stomach could take it. “Mycroft yanked him from the flat last night.”

            “Goodness,” Mrs. Hudson comments. “Why’s that?”

            John doesn’t want to answer it. He doesn’t want to feel the things associated with that question again. “Is it late in the morning?”

            “Still quite early.”

            “Brilliant,” John pushes himself, with great effort, out of his seat. “Gonna head to the loo, clean myself up a bit. We’ve got clients coming today.”

            “You don’t think that…that strange _man_ will try to…stop by again, do you?”

            “Mrs. H,” John offers her his best smile as he passes her by. “We told you yesterday. Just be cautious…and don’t open the door. We’ll handle that.”

            “Alright.” Mrs. Hudson nods at him. “Get some water into you, John. Have some tea if you’d like. Those scones are fresh.” She begins heading out of the flat.

            “Thanks so much,” The doctor sighs, the scones do smell good. Even if his stomach might disagree. “I’ll grab some in just a bit.” He disappears down the hall, heading to the washroom. However, he got quite the surprise when he made it to the end of the hall and nearly bumped into…Anthea( _what the hell?_ ) as she was exiting Sherlock’s bedroom. She’s got an outfit of Sherlock’s over one arm and a pair of his shoes in her other hand.

            “Goodmorning, Dr. Watson.” Anthea wishes him well as she passes him, walks out of the flat. John stands there in disbelief, blinking for a while.

            “Is **_everyone_ ** just allowed to enter and exit this bloody flat as they please?” John spits a bit bitterly as he opens the bathroom door and closes it roughly.  


	117. An Emergency

           

 

 

            “Yes.”

            “No.”

            “Yes.”

            “ _No_!”

            “Yes!

            “ _Noooooo_!!”

 

            If anything, toddler Sherlock was more bratty. More defiant. Louder, whinier.  Mycroft has noted the differences between the baby he’d been visiting at 221B, and the toddler he’s sitting for now.

            All Mycroft wants to do, is take apart their fort so that he can put the sofas back together. Mycroft doesn’t like clutter, and while the fort was good fun to sleep in (though they both woke up a bit sore after sleeping on the floor), it was time to take it apart and get on with their day. Sherlock had to be back at 221B in time to consult with the clients. That’s what consulting detectives do!

            “Sherlock Holmes,” Mycroft says through grit teeth. “We need to change your nappy. Anthea will be here shortly with your clothes. You need to eat _something_ for breakfast. So, _behave_!”

            “Can’t make me!” The little boy shows his tongue. “I’m not gonna! I don’t want stupid, smelly, rotten clothes! I _do not_   like breakfast! I don’t wanna go back to 221B!” He stomps his foot. “I wanna stay here! In the fort! So, we can’t take it down! Stop being a bully!”

            “Sher-“

            “Also, how do you even know my nappy is wet? You didn’t check!” Sherlock dropped down onto his hands and knees, proceeding to crawl back into the blanket fort. “Leave me alone!”

            “Not so fast!” Mycroft gets Sherlock’s ankle. The boy yelps. “Out of the fort, _now_!”

            “No, no, no! You’re such a bully!”

            “A bully who wants to help you out of that wet nappy and feed you! Ah, yes, _so_ horrible!”

            Mycroft tugs Sherlock’s ankle, pulling the little boy bit by bit out of the fort.

            “Stop! Stop! _St-op_!” Sherlock voice breaks on the last ‘stop’ and he no longer resists Mycroft’s pull, letting himself be removed from the blanket fort.

            Once he’s out of the fort, Sherlock wraps his arms around his knees and rests his forehead on them. He’s shaking a bit, sniffling. Crying.

            “Oh, Sherlock…” Mycroft feels a bit bad. But, he was only trying to help. “Why are you really so upset?”

            “Don’t wanna go…”

            “But, why?”

            “I’m scared to see Daddy…” Sherlock admits, voice muffled by his knees. “Also, don’t wanna see clients. Cuz, that means that I have to try real hard to be big.”

            Mycroft understands Sherlock’s feelings. But, isn’t sure what to do to remedy them.

            “You…could just cancel the client appointments.” Mycroft offers.

            “That’d be irresponsible and Daddy will be disappoint in m-me.”

            Mycroft is distracted from his sniffling brother by the ringing of his phone. Absentmindedly, he pulls it from the pocket of his dressing gown. Answers it after checking the caller ID.

            “Good morning.” Mycroft speaks, watching as his little brother continues to whimper into his knees. He feels bad for poor Sherlock, with his brain always competing with his body. His brain always competing with his heart. Sherlock’s brain was a competitor who always sought to win the fight. “Yes, that sounds fine. He would enjoy that, he did yesterday.”

            Sherlock let himself fall into his side, still curled up. _Dramatic lad_. The poor thing was now also without his brother’s full attention.

            “Thank you, Anthea.” Mycroft says, then returns the device back into his pocket. He approaches Sherlock and sits down in front of him. “Sherlock, that was Anthea on the phone.”

            “I have ears, you bully.” Is the little boy’s response.

            “Anthea says she would like to water the plants with you, then make you breakfast.”

            Sherlock stopped mid whimper to peek up from his knees at his brother. “Water the plants? But, I already watered them…”

            “The indoor plants, yes.” Mycroft says. “What about the outside ones?”

            “Oh!” Sherlock’s wet eyes grew wide, as did an unhideable grin. “We forgot all about those, I think!”

            “Did we??” Mycroft feigns surprise. “I can’t believe we’d forget _those_!”

            “Yeah, yeah! We did!” Sherlock nods. “We didn’t even think about ‘em!”

            “That’s a problem that _must_ be fixed, I’d say.” Mycroft is speaking animatedly, letting his little brother know just how _terribly serious_ this matter was. “I think we’d better get you into a clean nappy and take down the fort _quickly_ , so you’ll be ready to go when Anthea gets here.”

            “You’re right.” Sherlock turns to his owl who’s laying beside the fort. “My, wake up! We have an ‘mergency!”

            Mycroft snorts at just how adorable his baby brother was.  

            The owl, on the other hand, wasn’t having it. My had no interest in getting up at all.

            “This is important, My!” Sherlock picked up the owl, shaking it roughly. At that, My reminded Sherlock that owls are nocturnal, so it was against the owl’s very _nature_ to be awake at this time. “Nice try, you silly bird. Snowy owls are able to be awake during both the day and night, and can hunt at either time of day as well." The boy explains. "Snowy owls aren't strictly nocturnal. You lose, get up!”

            _Drat, you’ve caught me._ The bird sighs. _What’s the emergency, then?_ The owl asks. _Smarty pants…_

            “We forgot t’water the _outside_ plants!” Sherlock says, oblivious to his brother gathering up the nappy supplies to change him. “That’s a huge uh-oh!”

            _Not really._ My disagrees. _On a scale from 'whoopsy' to 'uh-oh', forgetting to water plants is at the most an ‘oh darn’._

            “False, My! It’s a big uh-oh!” Sherlock exclaims. “And, it’s not just cuz I love watering plants, either.” The boy says…even though…that _is_ a huge part of why he cares so much about forgetting to do the outdoor plants.

            Really though, of course Sherlock didn’t _forget_. Mycroft hadn’t even considered having Sherlock water the outside plants. However, Mycroft was overjoyed by Anthea’s suggestion to water the outdoor plants with Sherlock. It distracted Sherlock from his whine-fest.

            “Lay down, brother mine.” Mycroft directed while Sherlock continued to squabble with My.

            Sherlock lays down and holds My above his head. “Haven’t you _ever_ seen how quick a plant can go dry and then _die_?”

            _Boring, can’t say I have_. My has always been a snarky bird. Sherlock isn’t surprised.

            The little boy huffed and rolled his eyes. “Even though you’re a rude bird, I love you.” He presses a kiss to the owl’s beak. “Lots and lots, My.”

            Mycroft feels warmth in his heart at the affection his brother shows the owl. Maybe it’s because the owl somewhat represents him.

            Sherlock is far into his little space, and he’s showing no signs of slipping back into his adult one. Mycroft is pleased to see that, because Sherlock is often so frustrated about the inconsistent headspace dwelling.

            The little boy lets his brother change his nappy without any complaints.

            “Alright,” Mycroft says as he stands up. “You’re all clean now.”

            “Thank you.” Sherlock looks up at him from the floor. A smile on his mouth.

            “You’re welcome, lad.”

            “ _You’re welcome, lad_.”

            “What?”

            “ _What_?” Sherlock mocks him again and giggles. “That’s what you sound like.

            “What…I sound like?”

            “You sound like this: ‘ _Tut-tut, I say! You are quite welcome, lad!_ ’” Sherlock explains. “Posh, posh, posh.”

            “Do not.”

            “ _Do not_!” Sherlock copies his big brother again in an exaggerated accent. “You sound funny.”

            “I do not sound funny. I sound just fine, Sher-“

            “And pretty.” Sherlock doesn’t let Mycroft finish, as he gets up from the floor. “Take down fort, now?” He points to it.

            Mycroft is stuck blinking. Sherlock just said the way he spoke sounded _pretty_. Does that mean Sherlock truly does admire the way he talks?

            The older brother is stunned because Sherlock never really said…kind compliments to him. When he was quite young, sometimes he would. Mycroft recovers quickly enough.

            “Would you mind getting a headstart on dismantling the fort?” Mycroft asks. “I’d like to toss this nappy and wash my hands.”

            “Blah, blah, blah.” Sherlock replies quickly, but not really in a rude way, as he throws himself on top of the fort without hesitation. “Oh, _ow_. Not…as soft as it looks.”

            “Good lord,” Mycroft clicks his tongue. “You’ve _got_ to be more careful, little one. Are you alright?”

            “Yes, yes, yes.” Sherlock raises a ‘thumbs up’ into the air. “Sherlock is a-oh-kay.”

            Mycroft snorts. “Alright, sure. Good.” He waves to his brother. “Be right back.”


	118. Anthea's Bet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anthea is like the Cool Aunt and I love her

            With the fort taken down, and Sherlock in a far better mood, the two brothers relaxed in the den. Mycroft was reading to Sherlock, a book that both of them were familiar with from their childhood, when Anthea knocked on the den doors.

            Sherlock surprised himself with how unafraid he was to have his little side presented to someone else. Anthea already knew. Not just from the car ride the previous night. Sherlock suspects that Mycroft told her about it, as soon as Mycroft found out about it. Probably so. Mycroft wouldn’t have granted Sherlock that privacy, as it’s not in Mycroft’s nature to grant Sherlock privacy.

            “Good morning, Anthea.” Mycroft says from the sofa. “We’ll be out in a moment.”

            “Yes, good morning.” Anthea replies, knowing well not to coming to Mycroft’s den. She stands outside the closed doors, scrolling through her mobile while she waits.

            It takes a few moments before the doors open. When they do, Mycroft exits first. Sherlock stands at the threshold, looking down to avoid Anthea’s eyes shyly. He’s not afraid of her, but…gosh. Being little in front of a new person is a teeny bit intimidating.

            Anthea smiles fondly at Mycroft, then at Sherlock. She and Sherlock haven’t much spoken before in general, however…that’s mostly because they’ve not been given a chance, really.

            “Goodmorning to you, Sherlock.” Anthea offers him her hand, and Sherlock gasps and moves closer to Mycroft.

            “Hello…” Sherlock’s half hidden behind his brother now.

            “Do you know why I’m here today?” Anthea is not bothered by Sherlock’s shy display. She is amused and intrigued by how genuinlely childlike he appears.

            “Cuz you’re brother’s partner in crime, and you two are always together anyway.”

            Anthea and Mycroft both breathe laughter at Sherlock’s reponse.

            “Well, that’s _sort_ of true.” Anthea admits. “But, there’s another reason. Well, two reasons, actually.”

            “What’re your reasons?” Sherlock gets right to the point. No more guessing.

            “All about business, are we?” Anthea smiles, and Sherlock holds onto his brother’s arm with one hand, his other is holding My. Sherlock only nods at Anthea’s question. “Nothing wrong with being all about business. Your brother certainly is.”

            Mycroft chuckles at that, and Sherlock seems to relax a bit.

            “Well, I’m here today, because…” Anthea pauses ‘for effect’. “One, because I’ve heard that you are a _fantastic_ gardener. And, I could really use a gardening buddy out there today.”

            “Really?” Sherlock looks very, _very_ surprised. “I’m a good gardener?” He points to himself.

            “You watered all of those plants by yourself last night, didn’t you?” She asks.

            The boy nods insistently. “I promise! Brother didn’t help at all. I did all the work!” He wants her to believe him. He _really_ does. “It wasn’t easy…but…it wasn’t super hard, either! I did a good job, tell her, M’croft!”

            “He truly did.” Mycroft declares. “I was _absolutely_ blown away.”

            If Sherlock had a tail, it’d be wagging like crazy right now. He was being praised by _his brother_. Mycroft was even telling someone else what a good job he’d done. Sherlock was _beaming_!

            “Wow!” Anthea exclaims. “It has to be true then! I’ve come to the right place to find the _very best_ gardening buddy.”

            “Very best, My! Did you hear that?” Sherlock is bouncing in place, his chestnut curls doing the same. “Very best!”

            My was just as ecstatic as Sherlock. The owl was praising Sherlock as well, reminding the boy of how much work he’d done. How careful he was not to spill the water. How he only played in the soil a _little_ bit. Even though My hadn’t been there to see it, Sherlock had told the owl all about it. My wasn’t there because brother said the owl might get all dirtied up in the greenhouse. Since My was a white owl, the chances of them getting dirty was higher than other stuffies. Sherlock had to be extra careful.

            Anthea and Mycroft watched the little boy chat excitedly with his owl. Then, the two 'adults' had a conversation with their eye contact alone.

            “Sherlock,” Anthea says to the little boy. “Would it be alright if we got started in the garden now?”

            “No.” Sherlock shakes his head.

            “Why not, little guy?” Anthea furrowed her brow dramtically.  “I thought you’d want to garden with me. Since you’re the very best and all.”

            “I _am_ the very best,” Little Sherlock doesn’t hesitate to be as cocky as big Sherlock can be when he’s in his element. “However, you didn’t tell me the second reason why you’re here today. So…you know. Business first.”

            Mycroft bites back a large laugh at Sherlock’s witiness, and the expression it blooms on Anthea’s face. Mycroft turns his head and hides his face in Sherlock’s shoulder to keep from cackling.

            “Goodness, you don’t miss a beat, do ya kid?” Anthea folds her arms playfully at Sherlock. “The second reason, is that I make incredible breakfast. And, I heard you’re not a breakfast eater.”

            “Then…why would I want to eat your breakfast…if I’m not a breakfast eater?” Sherlock asks.

            “Because, I bet you’ll eat the _everything_ on your plate, and even want _more_.” Anthea smirks as her bet is placed on the table.

            Sherlock arches a brow. “Unlikely.” His little voice is taut with confidence.

            “I _bet_ you.” Anthea says again.

            This makes the little boy _almost_ want to skip the gardening and get to proving her wrong _now_. Almost.

            But, he still wants to prove that he’s the very best gardener. So, breakfast be damned. He had to get in that garden first.

            “You’re on.” Little Sherlock declares his war. “But…we garden now? Please?”

            Anthea’s smirk returns to a fond smile. She reaches up to ruffle Sherlock’s messy hair. She’d never…done anything like that to him. Sherlock feels…happy when she does. It’s strange. He’s never had any affections towards her beforehand. But, he feels now like she’s even more a part of the family.

            “Yes, we can go garden now.” She takes her hand from his curls. “Let’s go, kiddo.”  


	119. John Joins In

**_You will have him back in time, won’t you? JW_ **

****

**_John, you’ve added a signature to your texts. MH_ **

****

**_All of you have them, thought I’d join in. JW_ **

**_You’ve not answered my question, Mycroft. JW_ **

****

**_In a mood, are we? MH_ **

****

**_Stop taunting me. Answer the question. I’m tired of you. JW_ **

****

            Mycroft blinked at his phone for a moment. _Tired of **me**_? After spending the night attempting to actually _help_ John and Sherlock, the good doctor is _tired_ of Mycroft?

           

            **_I’m afraid that I don’t understand the issue, Dr. Watson. MH_**

****

**_God forbid you Holmes boys not understand something. JW_ **

**_Just bring Sherlock home in a timely manner. JW_ **

****

**_I have upset you. MH_ **

****

**_There we go. JW_ **

****

**_What have I done wrong? MH_ **

****

**_You bloody strolled into my flat and took my son! JW_ **

**_I can’t say I’m especially pleased with that, Mycroft! JW_ **

**_At least…at the very LEAST you could’ve told me. JW_ **

****

**_Would you have let me take him if I had? MH_ **

****

**_Doesn’t matter. You can’t just take someone’s kid. JW_ **

****

**_Sherlock Holmes came along with me willingly. MH_ **

**_He’s allowed to choose when and where he goes. MH_ **

****

**_We both know it’s not that simple anymore. JW_ **

****

            Mycroft was amused by that comment, but he’s not entirely sure why that is. He chuckled before replying to John’s last message.

           

                 ** _A hangover, John? MH_**

****

**_How the hell can you tell that from a text? JW_ **

****

**_Just a bit obvious, I suppose. MH_ **

**_At any rate, seeing your messages with a text signature is…strange. MH_ **

****

**_It was weird at first that you lot had them as well.  JW_ **

****

**_Do you know why we have them? MH_ **

****

**_Because it seems like something you two would do. JW_ **

**_It’s all proper and fancy. Signing every text. JW_ **

****

**_Sherlock’s signature isn’t actually set, he types his every time. Habit. MH_ **

**_Mine however, is set. MH_ **

****

**_Why would he bother typing it out every time? That’s tedious. JW_ **

**_He doesn’t like tedious things. JW_ **

****

**_Sherlock’s life was very unstable before he met you, John. MH_ **

**_He went from house to house. Slept on many sofas. MH_ **

**_My brother often had no source of income. MH_ **

 

**_**_Yeah, he's told me a bit about that part of his past. Not too much detail. JW_ ** _ **

**_**_**_Go on. JW_**  _ ** _ **

****

**_He mostly borrowed phones to communicate. MH_ **

**_And, he eventually got tired of explaining his situation to everyone, why it was always a different number. MH_ **

            **_So, how did he fix his problem, John? MH_**

****

**_Started adding ‘SH’ to his messages to end the confusion. JW_ **

**_That’s damn smart. JW_ **

****

**_Yes, I agree. MH_ **

****

**_Why do you have your signature then? JW_ **

****

**_I sometimes need to send messages from more discrete phone numbers. MH_ **

**_For various reasons. Signing the texts clears up the confusion, same as my brother. MH_ **

**_Also, I sign all of my emails. All communications should be addressed, therefore they should be signed as well. MH_ **

****

**_I knew it was for a posh reason. JW_ **

**_**_At least for you, anyway. JW_ ** _ **

****

**_Sherlock called me posh earlier. MH_ **

**_Well, Little Sherlock did. MH_ **

****

**_Haha, serves you right. JW_ **

****

**_In a better mood, then? MH_ **

****

**_I miss him, Mycroft. JW_ **

**_Why did you take him? JW_ **

****

**_The only thing I wanted to do was help. MH_ **

****

**_With what? JW_ **

****

**_I’m to shower now, while Sherlock is busy. I will have him back after breakfast. MH_ **

****

**_What’s he up to? JW_ **

****

**_Watering the garden with Anthea. MH_ **

****

**_Anthea? She knows he’s little? Or is he not little right now? JW_ **

****

**_She knows. He’s little currently. MH_ **

****

**_How did she know? Is he ok? JW_ **

****

**_Of course he’s fine. She knows because she knows. MH_ **

****

**_For god’s sake. Will I ever get a straight answer out of either of you? JW_ **

****

**_I will likely talk with you later on, John. MH_ **

****

**_What did you help Sherlock with? JW_ **

**_Mycroft? JW_ **

**_Fine. Sod it, then. I should be used to getting left in the dark by now. JW_ **


	120. Not Broken

            Everything…just happened so quickly.

            One moment Sherlock was in the garden with Anthea, the next he was in the kitchen with she and Mycroft having breakfast.  

            Mycroft had looked a little affronted at breakfast, though little Sherlock didn’t ask about it. The little boy instead focused on playing, still buzzing from all of the praise he’d earned from Anthea out in the garden. He played with My under the kitchen table, telling the owl all about what’d happened outside, to keep the owl up to speed on all of the little boy’s activities.

            When breakfast was ready, Sherlock had to give in and graciously lose his bet he’s made to Anthea, because the food she’d made was super yummy.

            Still…it all happened so quickly. Sherlock doesn’t remember how he’d gone from waking up early that morning, to sitting on the floor of the den, preparing to return to 221B.

            “Anthea has brought you some clothes.” Mycroft announces as he steps into the den, said clothes draped over one arm, shoes the same hand..

            “Where is she?” Sherlock asks, bringing his knees to his chest, resting his chin upon them.

            “Who?”

            “Anthea.”

            “She was the office, last I saw her.” Mycroft slides the doors shut. “Are you alright?”

            “Yes.” Sherlock’s not little at the moment, though feeling a bit emotional. A tad anxious, at the thought of returning home – to John. “Does he know I’ll be home soon?”

            “He texted me before my shower.”

            “Was that why you seemed a bit…?”

            “Oh,” Mycroft looks surprised. “Did I have a look?”

            “You seemed ‘troubled’,” Sherlock shrugged. “If that’s the right word.”

            “John is upset with me.”

            Sherlock’s mouth fell open, eyebrows frowned. “What? Why?”

            “I ‘strolled in and took his son’ and he isn’t at all happy about it.”

            “But, you were only trying to help.” Sherlock is upset with this news. “You _did_ help.”

            “Did I?” Mycroft flashes a bit of insecurity, Sherlock wants to reassure his brother.

            “Yes! You did!” Sherlock slips, just a bit into his little side. “Brother helped me with all kinds of stuff! My icky heart, going potty, building a fort! Mycroft let me eat a _whole_ honey stirrer, water the plants, he nursed me my delicious honey-milk! And brother even let me _run_ in the _hallway_!”

            Mycroft can’t help the smile on his face as he lays out Sherlock’s clothes along the sofa. He’s surprised that Sherlock saw ‘running in the hallway’ as a bonus, but he apparently does. Maybe because Mycroft wouldn’t usually allow such ruckus in his home.

            “So, don’t let mean old Daddy make you feel bad! He’s just a grump!” Toddler Sherlock points at Mycroft. “You’re the best big brother in the world, and sometimes you try real hard to be. I appreciate it. A-and I love you for it. And…and…”

            The older brother is staring at Sherlock with wide eyes.

            “Just…” Sherlock takes a big breath. “Gosh, Daddy just doesn’t get it, does he?”

            Mycroft is still blinking dumbfoundedly at his brother. Little or not…Sherlock hadn’t openly told Mycroft that he loved him…in…a _**very**_ long time. And…

            “Are you ok?” Sherlock lets his knees come away from his chest, his held tilting to the side. “Um…” Sherlock eyebrows knit as Mycroft continues to stare and blink. “I think Brother is broken.” The little boy turns to look at his owl, who’s seated on the sofa beside his clothes.

            “No…not…broken…just-“

            “You love me too??” Sherlock is grinning now, widely, unashamedly. Mycroft is taken aback by his enthusiasm.

            “Yes, my dear boy.” Mycroft grins back. “Quite so.”

            “Hooray!” Sherlock springs to his feet and runs over to his brother, wrapping him in his arms.

            Mycroft lets a soft ‘oof’ as they collide. But, he hugs his little brother all the same. Slowly, Sherlock lets his littleness fade out as the embrace continues.

            “It’s true, you know.” Sherlock’s voice has returned to normal. “I do appreciate what you have done for me. Not just this, but…all of the things. And, all of the times that I hadn’t said thank you, I wanted to. I just…”

            “I know.” Mycroft hugs him tighter. “I know, Sherlock. Thank you for telling me. And…”

            “And?”

            “I do love you as well, brother mine.”

            “Gross.” Sherlock pulls back from their tight embrace to look his brother in the face, with his nose crinkled. “You’re being all mushy.”

            And, with that, little Sherlocok is back

            “Am not.” Mycroft counters, though he knows he was.

            “Are too!” Sherlock hasn’t let his brother go yet. He then ‘quotes’ his brother in a forcibly posh accent. “ _I love you too, Sherlock. You’re the best brother ever! I’ll let you have all the sweets you want and let you build blanket forts in_ _Buckingham_ _Palace_ _!_ ”

            “Wait a minute!” Mycroft chuckles. “When on _Earth_ did I ever say all of that?”

            “M’croft, it was implied.” Little Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Duh.”

            “I don’t think-“

            “Shut up, hold still.” Sherlock leans forward, very closely and says ‘mwah’, even though there is no contact. “There. Good enough.”

            “Why did you-“ Mycroft is cut off by his brother groaning loudly.

            “It’s how I like to say thank you!” Sherlock finally lets Mycroft go, then drops himself to the floor and begins kicking off his pajama bottoms. “Duh.”

            “By kissing?” Mycroft stoops down to help slip the bottoms off.

            “I didn’t kiss you.” The boy rolls onto his tummy, then pushes himself onto all fours, crawling towards the center of the rug. “I wanted to, but only to say thank you. Although, I think even if it’s a ‘thank you’ kiss…I think I’m only supposed to kiss my daddy on the mouth.”

            Mycroft watches Sherlock crawl away. “I suppose so, yes.” He glances at Sherlock’s nappy. “Are you wet?”

            Sherlock stops crawling and sits on his bottom. “Um, yes.”

            “Alright, then.” Mycroft fetches the nappy bag. “Let’s get you changed and dressed, then-“

            “Then back to 221B?”

            “Yes, back to Baker Street.” Mycoft watches as Sherlock huffs unhappily and lays onto his side.

            “I have to go see _John_.” The name sounds funny on Sherlock’s mouth, because he’s little. He doesn’t usually call his daddy by his name when he’s little.

            “…Yes.” Mycroft says, though it sounds more like a question. “Do you not want to see him?”

            “Didn’t we already talk about this?” Sherlock asks.

            “Hmmm,” Mycroft sits on the floor in front of his brother. “Maybe so.” He pretends not to know. “Did you tell me that you didn’t want to see Daddy?” Mycroft pats Sherlock’s bare leg. “Lay the correct way, brother.”

            Sherlock does as he’s told, unhappily, however. “Fine.”

            “Thank you.”

            “And, yeah…I think I told you that I wasn’t quite looking forward to this event.” Sherlock feels the tabs of his nappy being pulled. “Daddy’s gonna want some explaining.”

            “Reasonably so.”

            “Don’t say that.” Sherlock frowns up at the ceiling. “It’s _your_ fault. You stole me.”

            “Did I?”

            “Well, _duh_.” The boy says. “Duh.”

            “ _Duh_.” Mycroft parrots. “That’s what you sound like. Since you’ve told me what I sound like.”

            Sherlock is shocked. “You’re not supposed to copy _me_!”

            “ _You’re not supposed to copy me_!” Mycroft copies anyway.

            If Mycroft wasn’t changing his nappy, Sherlock would pounce. The boy is sure of it. Mycroft sees the determined look on his brother’s face and he laughs.

            “Don’t laugh at me!” Sherlock fidgets away from his brother’s cleaning hands. “No!”

            “I’m not laughing at you, really.” Mycroft assures him. “It’s just, you’re awfully cute.”

            Sherlock stops fidgeting and settles down. “You called me cute again.”

            “Yes, I know.” Mycroft waits for Sherlock to lift his lower half, so that he can slide the new nappy under it. “This is the last nappy from your backpack, good thing you’re headed home. I’ve had the new nappies sent to your flat, the parcel should’ve arrived by now. John’s most likely got it.” He chuckles. “He’ll probably be surprised to have opened it, only to see that it’s a shipment of nappies.”

            “Would Daddy open my mail?”

            “He’s a bit paranoid lately. I believe that if he _did_ open it,” Mycroft tapes the nappy shut firmly. “It was only out of concern, not to snoop.”

            “Snoop.” Sherlock repeats the word, as he finds it fun to say. He giggles.

            “Very cute.” Mycroft pets his leg. “I think this visit has made us closer, don’t you?”

            Sherlock, finally nappied, springs himself at Mycroft, tackling to his brother to the expensive rug. “Yes!” The boy says from atop his brother. “Lots and lots.”

            “Good.” Mycroft stangled. “Sherlock, get off.”

            “Nope.”

            “What if I tickled you?”

            “You wouldn’t.” Sherlock shakes his curly head. “Brother won’t touch me cuz he has nappy hands.”

            Mycroft raises his hands, feigning ‘attack-mode’. “Would you like to lose another bet today, brother? You already lost one to Anthea...”

            “No!” Sherlock squeaks, rolling off of his big brother. “No more bets, ever.”

            The older chuckles and sits up. “While I go toss this nappy and wash my hands,” He stands. “Begin getting dressed. I’ll be back to help you shortly."

            Sherlock huffs, but complies. He’s pulling his tshirt over his head by the time that Mycroft is shutting the den door behind him.


	121. The Worst

            The car ride was quiet between the brothers, but they sat closely. The slight contact of each other’s arms allowed Sherlock to feel like he was grounded. Anthea sat on Mycroft’s other side, silent as well, on her phone as ever. Though, Sherlock did notice the pauses in her endless scrolling and typing. During those pauses, she looked over at Sherlock, then at Mycroft, before returning her eyes to her mobile.

            “We’re almost there now.” Mycroft announces, as though Sherlock didn’t know.

            “Yes, I’m aware.” The younger brother says, the words carried by a sigh. “Can we go back to being quiet, I liked that better.”

            “Sherlock…” Mycroft’s tone is equal parts warning…but also sort of a plea. “Don’t go back to being cold towards me. We were having such fun.” Mycroft is trying to sound passive aggressive, but it’s not quite working. Sherlock knows that Mycroft is enjoying their newfound, or rekindled companionship. Mycroft doesn’t want it taken so soon.

            The detective takes a deep breath. “I am sorry.” Sherlock says, avoiding his brother’s face by looking out the window and watching London. “I’m a bit…uptight.”

            “Clearly,” Mycroft pats his knee. “John will be happy to see you.”

            “I sort of…don’t care.” Sherlock shrugs. “I want to care, I do. But, I just wish he’d ignore me, to be honest.”

            “He won’t.”

            “Obviously.”

            “John will have questions.”

            “Quite.”

            “You _will_ have to answer them and-“

            “Why??” Sherlock spits, finally turning back to face Mycroft. Anthea is pretending not to notice. “You are the one who took me! Brother, _you_ march into 221B and tell him why!” He shakes his head. “Why the hell am I the one who has to do it??”

            “He’ll appreciate it coming from you!” Mycroft raises his voice as well. Anthea sighs discreetly and it goes unnoticed by the bickering siblings. “Maybe he’ll actually believe that what I have done has helped! He’ll believe that I’ve not done it to be a pompous prick, but because I _care_! About both of you!”

            Sherlock turns away from his brother, and sinks lower into his seat.

            “This truly is the worst thing.” Sherlock folds his arms. “Why did I let this happen in the first place? Things would be so simple if John wasn’t so incredible. Why couldn’t he just be another goldfish?”

            “I really believe that if John was truly unbearable, you wouldn’t have moved in with him.” Mycroft refuses to slump like his brother, he wishes he could though.

            “Exactly.” Sherlock shrugs. “It’d just be me and Hudders.”

            “Dull.”

            “Yes, dull.” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “But, there’d be no chance of me falling in love with her. And, I wouldn’t have to share the biscuits with anyone.”

            “You would be back on drugs again by now, I’m sure. And, no one to ensure that you've eaten or slept.” Mycroft states. "You'd be a mess."

            “Have a little faith, Mycroft.” Sherlock says, annoyed. He sits up again as they turn onto Baker Street. “I’m sure I’d have lasted quite a while before my next fix would’ve been needed.”

            “Just try to behave with Dr. Watson, please?” Mycroft requests as the car comes to a stop. “Also, be careful. We’ve got extra security and all, but we’ve got no leads to go on. That man could be anywhere or anyone.”

            “John and I have clients today, but we probably won’t need to leave the flat.” Sherlock picks up his nappy bag from the floor of the car. “If we do leave the flat, feel free to keep your eyes on us then as well. I’d appreciate it.”

            “Good, yes.” Mycroft replies, both brothers becoming awkward at not knowing how to say goodbye.

            “Well,” Sherlock motions out the building through the car window. “Here I am.”

            “Indeed, there you are.” Mycroft nods. “I, er, I’m still fine for making visits when I’d like, yes?

            “I should say so.” Sherlock confirms, albeit a bit shyly. “If you’d not…I would miss you.” Sherlock nudges his brother’s arm with his own. “Thank you, for all of this, Mycroft.”

            “You’re welcome.” Mycroft smiles lightly. “I’ll visit tomorrow if I can, if not…I will see you at my earliest convenience.”

            “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Sherlock smiles back. “Just bring presents.”


	122. Still There

            Sherlock opens the outside door to their building, aware that his brother’s car still hasn’t driven away. The car remains there, even once Sherlock is inside and has closed the door behind him. Sherlock can tell that Mrs. Hudson is home, and he’s glad of the fact. She’s been instructed not to go anywhere outside the flat today because of their current concern regarding the mystery man. However, if things seem to go well today, the concern may be dropped a bit.

            He can also tell that John is in the living room, because the door is shut. They normally leave it open at all times. The door is shut usually if one of them is in a mood. Sherlock sighs. Did this mean that John was still probably grumpy? Sherlock wonders if John would be willing to have a chat…about his visit with Mycroft. Maybe leaving out the bit about what his brother told him however. He isn’t sure if he’s ready to face whatever this is. The detective slowly climbs the stairs to the flat, wondering if John can hear him moving up the steps. Probably so.

            “Sherlock?” John calls his name from the living room. Sherlock freezes on the steps, curses under his breath.

            “Yes?”

            “Just…I don’t know.” John sounds like he’s further into the living room than his chair, maybe at the desk? Is he working on a blog? “Welcome home.”

            “Thanks.” Sherlock responds as he continues climbing the steps, and then…opens the door to the living room. He closes it behind himself, though he wishes that he hadn’t. It feels too tight in here now. Too close.

            John isn’t at the desk, rather, he’s standing at the window. Sherlock knows what he’s looking at now: Mycroft’s car.

            “He’s still there, then?” Sherlock looked around the room, then drops his nappy bag by the coffee table. John flinched at the noise, though it hadn’t made much of one. Sensitive to sound? “You drank last night.” Sherlock states and turns to look at the kitchen table, where sat the medicine for John’s headache, next to an opened parcel. The box was most likely the nappies Mycroft had sent, in fact, Sherlock knew it was. Just as Mycroft had said, John had opened the package.

            “I was coming home, John. You didn’t have to drink.”

            “I didn’t doubt that you’d come home.” John says without turning away from the window. “If you didn’t come back on your own, I was going to come and get you myself.”

            Sherlock looks down at his feet. “I don’t doubt that.”

            “Why?”

            “Because you care about me.”

            “No,” John sighs and finally turns around. His hangover is even more evident on his face. “Why did he take you?”

            “Oh…”

            “Yeah, tell me.” John says through grit teeth.

            Sherlock takes a deep breath. 


	123. Shutting Down and Shutting Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello!
> 
> Today's Chapters: 114 - 123 :)
> 
> I have written more already, but I thought it'd be rude to drop a huge amount of content onto you all after a long break. WasI wrong? Am I holding out on you all?
> 
> I will say though, that the client visits were a lot of fun to write. Because, after their time apart, and all of their little disagreements, it was fun to see them putting their 'differences' aside and focusing on cases/consulting again. They work together so beautifully.
> 
> And, one client brings in a huge...surprise(?) for Sherlock. A gift, really. And...it's fun to see John observing Sherlock when Sherlock is in 'case mode' yet again. 
> 
> Again,  
> Thanks so much :)
> 
> ~TJL

 

 

_**Tell me.** _

 

John says – demands this. He’s tired, so tired of waiting. Of wanting so much, yet receiving _just enough_. John is ready to stop pretending. He lets them pretend at any other time – but not this time.

 

 _John_ , Sherlock thinks. _Mycroft took me because I love you more than I’ve loved anyone. Because I’m his little brother, and he knows me well. He knows that I was – am still, absolutely petrified. Mycroft took me away before I had the chance to hurt you again. I was going to. That night, I was shutting down and shutting out and I was taking myself away from you. And, you would’ve despised me for it. So, what did Mycroft do? **He** took me away from you, because if I’d done it, it would’ve broken us even more. But, if Mycroft did it, you would project you loathing somewhere else. Mycroft was saving us. Just as he always done, Mycroft took the blame from me._

Sherlock took a deep breath.

 

            “I-I was shutting down…and shutting out.” Sherlock responds, making sure to stand tall as he does so. He was trying to pretend that speaking to John about what happened…and looking John in the eyes while doing so, wasn’t rattling him apart inside. “Mycroft fetched me to make sure that I was alright.”

            “But – _why_ were you shutting _me_ out, Sherlock? Why?” John’s voice is raising. “What the _fuck_ did I do?”

            “It wasn’t _you_ , J-John!” Sherlock’s faltering, not standing as tall as before. “I was just dealing with…some matters and-“

            “Whatever. You’re just about to give me bullshit, aren't you?.” John waves a hand at Sherlock. He was initially ready to face Sherlock calmly. But, when he saw Sherlock…he felt far more vulnerable than he was ready for. And, when Sherlock was about to give some of his crap excuses…John wasn’t having it. Dealing with it for so long already has exhausted any patience that John had on the matter.

            “John…” Sherlock wants to try and explain himself. “Can we please talk?”

            “About what?” John folds his arms. A barrier.

            “Don’t do that.”

            “ _You_ don’t do that.”

            “What?” Sherlock frowns in confusion.

            “Giving me bullshit is just as defensive as folding my arms.” John shakes his head. “Just tell me what you want to talk about, Sherlock. I’m _tired_.”

            Sherlock feels small, but he doesn’t slip into his little headspace. Not that kind of small. He’s feeling like John is towering over him. Sherlock hates when John is angry with him.

            “I don’t know.” Sherlock says, because he’s feeling overwhelmed and John hasn’t even given him a chance before getting angry. And, Mycroft was a liar. He said that seeing John would make everything make sense, and that Sherlock would feel good. But, Sherlock just feels like a balloon set to burst. Like a storm cloud ready to rain. He felt the warmth of love for a moment, but it hadn't made anything better.

            Sherlock wishes he could slip into little space and just cry and kick and scream. Or, beg for Daddy to hold him. But, his little side is scared and cowering somewhere deep in his brain.

            The younger man looks up to see John pinching the bridge of his nose. John is being so defensive and so curt. What is Sherlock meant to do? What does John want?

            “What do you _want_ from me, John? You want me just to fix everything, is that it?” Sherlock spits angrily. “You won’t even give me a bloody chance!”

            “A _chance_?” John gives a mirthless smirk. “I have been giving chances, Sherlock. And, I’ve been waiting for so _long_!”

            “For _what_ , John?” Sherlock stares at him, the distance between them like a precipice that Sherlock is scared to step off of. He’s scared to fall.

            “You _know_ what.” John bites his bottom lip like he’s trying not to say it. “You know, Sherlock. You’re too smart not to.” John glances at the doorway, almost like he’s expecting someone to walk through the door. “Clients arrive in about an hour.” He glances at his watch, then crosses the living room and sits in his chair. Soon, John is hidden behind a newspaper, and Sherlock is just left standing there. He’s unsure of what to do. Why did coming home feel like sinking to the bottom of the ocean? Sherlock could barely breathe. He hadn’t expected it to go like this.

            John side eyes Sherlock from his seat, seeing his flatmate standing there, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Sherlock is staring off into space like he is trying to get a grasp on himself. He’s been looking stunned for a while, since John accused him of knowing the truth. Which, Sherlock does. John doesn’t know that he knows yet. But, he swears there isn’t a way that Sherlock _couldn’t_ know, as smart as that man is.

            He hadn’t meant to snap at Sherlock. Not at all. He felt like a dick, he is one.

            “Sherlock, come here.” John puts his paper down, folding it and setting it aside. “Please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update:
> 
> * client visits  
> * Sherlock's surprise/gift  
> * two special visitors who embarrass Sherlock sooo badly, but John's quite fond of them  
> * Little Sherlock and Daddy John reunite!!
> 
> (seriously, John finally meeting Sherlock's par -- I mean, Sherlock's visitors had me giggling the entire time I was writing it)
> 
>  
> 
> Stay well <3


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